


Have You Heard?

by drop



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Adult Peter Parker, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Babysitting, Background Pepper Potts/James "Rhodey" Rhodes - Freeform, Blackmail, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Journalist Peter, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pepper and Tony are married but only in public, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Plot is parallel to ca:tfa but less fighting and more spying, Slow Burn, Spy Peter, Spying, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-03-20 19:46:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13724706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drop/pseuds/drop
Summary: Peter Parker, amateur journalist, needs a jaw-shattering scoop. One that would put all of the competing newspapers to rest. One that would distract the state of New York--or possibly the whole nation--from the war against the Third Reich.For this, Peter has to slip unnoticed into the life of the rich, the war heroes, and the spies. For this, Peter has to completely destroy the tumultuous life of one Anthony Stark.Because if Peter doesn't, the secrets his employer has against him will surely destroy his.





	1. Soups & Super Soldiers

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! Starker has truly amazing authors and stories, and I wanted to contribute to the growing number of Starker AUs with a historical one! Hope you enjoy, and, if you know of any other Historical AUs, pretty please direct me to them. :)

Unfortunately, the night was cold and windy, but at this point in the year, not even the wealthy could afford to be perturbed by the unpleasant weather. The guests were filing into the mansion's great hall with haste. Many because they wanted to avoid the chill, but several others did it unconsciously, for they were used to the period's secrecy and its hushed meetings.

Peter peered through the kitchen's small window, smugly noticing the small, yet subtle mannerisms of the invited. The easy smiles of the businessmen, the poise posture of the Great War veterans, the smoothness of possible spies and journalists--he was positive that his observation skills were far more superior than George's.

"Are you going to stay in those clothes all night, or are you going to join them?"

Peter started. He looked down at the brown apron and grey slacks MJ had given him to access the mansion's kitchen, and then he looked up at her.

MJ looked bored and tired, the bags under her eyes starting to acquire a grey tone. "Not to alarm you, but someone will notice that there is a non-colored busboy back here. And that will be bad. For both of us."

"You don't seem concerned."

"I have priorities."

Peter laughed as he chucked off his disguise, the blue suit he had borrowed from a coworker coming into view.

"I thought you said you had a nice suit."

" _Michelle_ , not being helpful," Peter muttered.

"Stating my opinion. I've been cleaning these types of parties for almost a decade now. I know what kind of suits get you the best interviews."

"I'm not George."

"I never said you were."

"You were thinking about it."

"I was indirectly, referencing ways of achieving successful connections... Who are you trying to get an exclusive from anyway?"

"Well," Peter began, fixing his tie as he looked at his reflection in the dishwater that had accumulated inside a large soup pot. His caramel hair was tousled and matted. _Great._  "M'boss wants me to do a whole page on someone who is actively involved in the war."

"Vague."

"Yes... It's pretty much the article that will decide my fate."

"Lord, Peter." MJ groaned, starting to wash cooking utensils. " _Why_  is he firing you already?"

Peter briefly stopped his fidgeting with his hair to look at MJ, voicing his suspicion for the first time since receiving the assignment in the morning. "The office's superior is keeping tabs on me."

A dirty ladle slipped from MJ's grip," _W-What_? Tabs as in socializing with us? Or tabs as in the meetings at Oscar's?"

Peter willed his hands to stop shaking,"If I do a good, god-damned interview, I don't have to find out."

MJ nodded solemnly, returning to her cleaning. "Well, if it's any help, Ned heard Mrs. Jones shrieking about her guests tonight. He heard a super soldier was coming today. You could interview him; find out about military regimes. A couple of high-esteemed Great War generals are coming, as well as the owner of Stark Industries and Captain Th--"

"Stark?" Peter gaped. He quickly went to peek at the kitchen door as if the man himself would immediately appear in the crowd. He looked back at MJ, who was frowning in confusion. " _The_  Stark? Oh god--Do you even know the rumours behind that man?"

"Not interested."

"You should be. _Michelle_! He's basically changing the world as we speak!"

"Ah, technology--"

"Not just _technology_ \-- Michelle, one of his cars was set in fire last week--"

MJ snorted,"One of his cars."

"--for insinuating that he's thinking of promoting his wife as CEO."

MJ turned around,"What?"

Peter smirked. "That's right. Stark actively promotes women's rights."

MJ frowned,"Not if he dies before making a change... Car one day, his body another. Trust me. Death threats escalate faster than you think."

Peter hummed as he tucked his notepad inside his jacket's pocket and his pen in the other. "I bet he's dying to be interviewed for the papers."

"Sure," MJ said. "Do you even know how he looks like?"

Peter frowned. "I'll ask names."

"Good luck," MJ snorted. "You need it." 

 

* * *

 

The buzz of the large hall was completely different from the kitchen. While the voices in the enclosed, grey room were frantic and clipped, the voices in the airy room were calm, joyful, and almost melodic.

Peter tugged his suit down in an attempt to look confident and collected, but in reality, his hands were trembling. Fortunately no one was noticing his bee-like behaviour as he took a look at every single middle-aged man's face, trying to see who...looked...Stark...ish.

MJ was right. Peter should have thought his plan out and investigated news articles that contained photos of the legendary Stark beforehand.

But Peter was a man of action; he jumped right into the problem, rather than analysing it from afar.

"Peter?"

Peter turned in an instant, trying to find the familiar, yet strange voice. His eyes quickly found bright blue ones staring down at him. Peter's breath hitched. The man was young unlike many of the guests here. His hair was all golden and his face was chiseled rather than littered with wrinkles. He was tall and broad--if they had met in another, very specific location in the city, Peter would have given him a very specific smile to match the occasion.

Taking into consideration where he and the man were standing, Peter cleared his throat and asked,"Hello, do I know you?"

Immediately, the man took his arm and hauled him to a less crowded space in the hall, next to a slightly opened balcony.

"Peter," the man snapped. "It's me. Steve."

"Steve?"

"Rogers. Steve. From...you know...Oscar's."

Peter gaped. " _Steve_!"

Peter couldn't form words. He patted Steve's chest, before reminding himself where he was, and tucked his hands inside his pockets.

"You...you were the same size as me--what? _What_! Where did you go?" Peter started blurting,"Oh did you get drafted? Is that why you were-- _Incredible_! This is impossible. Did Bucky also tone up? Where is he anyway? Wicked, you grew like ten feet! In less than a _year_. That's scientifically impossible. _I_  would know. Michelle would freak! _How_ \--What kind of training--"

" _Peter_!"

"What?"

"What are you doing here?" Steve hissed.

Peter scoffed,"What are _you_ doing here?"

"Selling _bonds_ ," Steve said as if he was about to be sick. "Now answer my question."

"I'm--"

"Rogers," a lovely voice called out, and Steve straightened physically beside Peter. A young, beautiful woman in a blue dress walked towards them with a well-dressed couple behind her. "I want you to meet the Starks."

Peter tried not to gape or scream, which he would think it would be easy to contain, but in his defence, he has never been so close to a technological god before.

The two Starks were a powerful sight. The out-and-open women's activist Virginia Stark had her glowing orange hair up in a bob, her white dress sparkling under the dim lights of the hall. Peter blinked twice as he looked at the woman; yes, it was obvious. Mrs. Stark was heavily with child. On her hip, there laid a large, rough hand that belonged to the one and only Stark.

Peter's gaze rose and found himself staring at a tall, well-kept man...who was a few days behind his shaving, but Peter would attribute it to Stark's rumoured, long self-exiles to his laboratories. The man, although in his forties, was extremely handsome and dark haired. He had brown eyes that would melt Peter in the spot, if Stark was to give an intentional smoulder. Peter lowered his gaze. God. How was he going to go forwards with his plan with someone so...

"Hello, I'm Steve Rogers." Steve spoke up, raising his hand for a shake.

Stark silently rose an eyebrow at Steve's enthusiastic tone, taking a sip from his almost empty glass of liquor.

Mrs. Stark sighed and shook Steve's hand for her husband. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Rogers. I'm Pepper. This is my husband, Anthony Stark."

Steve's face was red. "The pleasure is all mine, Pepper."

Pepper smiled and turned to the woman in the blue dress,"Peggy, you were saying he was a super...?"

"Soldier," Stark scoffed, taking another gulp of his alcohol. "Does it hurt to pay attention to people who don't matter to you, Virginia?"

Pepper smacked Stark and gave a forced laugh,"Ignore him. He's always making me look bad."

Peggy smiled. "Men, right?"

"What are you saying?" Stark muttered. "I love you, don't I? Do you?"

Pepper cleared her throat."And what do super soldiers do, Rogers?"

Steve started to talk, and by force of habit, Peter zoned out.

To his surprise, he wasn't the only one uninterested in what Steve had to say. Stark himself was staring at him. _Him._ Peter felt himself going red. Stark frowned, but quickly smirked, a look that was making Peter feel hot.

He quickly looked away and unconsciously moved closer to Steve.

"...but it's amazing to know that you are still trying," Peggy was saying.

Peter felt Stark's stare move away. Apparently, he was still paying attention.

"Well," Stark began. "From this side, it feels like we're not even trying."

Peggy rolled her eyes,"Oh, Anthony. Be thankful. You have two intelligent, healthy sons. I'm sure this one will be just the same."

The man gave a cruel, cold smile,"Hopefully it won't be another damned stillborn. Right, Virginia?"

Pepper's face immediately blanched. She placed her right hand on Stark's chest and her spare one quickly took ahold of his glass. "We should sit down, Tony. Get something to eat. The menu looks delightful."

"I'm not hungry. Not when my mind's preoccupied with work and the kids. Did they all eat before you left the house? Did you feed the help, too?"

" _Anthony_ ," Pepper gritted out. Peter could see her nails pronouncing themselves upon Stark's chest. Something regarding Stark's words was emotionally affecting Stark's wife. Pepper's checks were rosy, as if she was having difficulty repressing a whole ordeal of words. Whether they were accompanied by crying or yells, Peter did not know.

"Stark," Peter blurted out. All four faces whipped in unison to stare at him. Peggy and Peter looked confused, Steve looked terrified, but Stark simply rose an eyebrow. Peter could feel his cheeks getting red. "You must at least t-try the vegetable soup. I tasted it earlier, and it was full of spices. None like it. Ever again. I bet you've never tasted anything like it."

There was a tense silence before Stark snorted. "You bet? Is that a challenge?"

"It's a promise," Peter said.

Stark smirked before extending his arms to his sides for a brief moment. "All right, kid. Show me the way."

Peter staggered backwards as Stark took a step towards him. Peter turned around and headed to the buffet tables, Stark's long legs falling into step beside him.

"Name," Stark commanded.

"Peter, Mr. Stark."

"Nice to meet you, Peter Rogers."

"Parker. Peter Parker, Mr. Stark."

"A pleasure, Peter."

"The pleasure's all mine, Anthony."

Stark scoffed. "That's Stark to you, kid."

"Sorry, Stark."

The man chuckled. "My boys would eat you up. Do you let everyone push you around like that?"

"No," Peter fumed. "Not at all. I just don't question people who have a visible advantage over me."

"Then, how, dare I ask, would you surpass them if you don't challenge them in the first place?"

Peter was getting a bit upset. Stark was treating him as if Peter had no spine. As if he hasn't stood up for himself, _for others_ , when people insulted his friends and called out his odd mannerisms. "It doesn't matter whether I call you Stark or Anthony. It's whether I've managed to affect you. If I changed your way of thinking or if I influenced a decision of yours."

Stark hummed. "And what effect could you possibly do on me? Someone like you can't counter my missile strategies. Let alone convince me to burn down the Industries."

"No, I can't," Peter smiled coldly. "But I did manage to stop you from revealing a secret that your wife wasn't willing to share with Steve and Miss Peggy."

Stark's face revealed nothing as he took in Peter's words. "You did."

Peter smiled and grabbed a bowl, scooping a ladle full of broth into it. He picked up a spoon and offered them both to Stark. "You let everyone push you around like that, Mr. Stark?"

Stark took the bowl and took a spoonful, "Good soup."

"Thank you."

" _You_ made it?"

"I added the spices."

"You're from the kitchen?", Stark frowned.

"I'm from Queens."

"How do you know Rogers?"

" _Oh my_ , Stark, I didn't know I was that interesting for a kid who can't convince you to burn down the Industries."

Stark stared at him as he sipped his soup, his face, once again, revealing nothing other than a passive raised eyebrow. "Edward will love you."

"What?" Peter blurted out. His cheeks started to grow red. Who's Edward? Is Peter's sexuality _that_ noticeable? Will Stark tell everyone? Start calling him crude names? But why is Stark setting him up with a man if he's planning to report him to authorities? "I-uh-I am not looking for someone ri--"

"You'll do fine."

"Really, Mr. Stark. I just got out of one really possessive--"

"Oh really?" Stark chuckled, and Peter opened his mouth to reprimand Stark's coldness, but Stark kept talking. "Who's toddler was it? Madison's?"

"You--Todd-- _what?_ " Peter blinked.

"Edward's a good kid," Stark waved Peter's confusion off. "Besides, your cooking will drive him out of his dark spot. He's not eating any of Pepper's contraptions, and we're getting worried.."

Peter blinked.

"Come on, kid," Stark snapped. "The nanny quit, and my pal Rhodey is wasting his Friday evenings because of it. I'll pay you good. Better than this kitchen ever did. Come on, kid. Last offer."

"I-uh--How many days?"

"Weekdays for now. Just take him out on walks, cook him a light lunch, some errands now and then... You'll save me lots of time, kid. Both Pepper and I."

Peter couldn't believe he was actually considering it,"Don't you have more than one son?"

Stark hummed,"Howard. He's twenty. He's at school. Tends to hang around the city, so you'll barely see him."

This was unbelievably crazy. But if Peter played his cards right, he could gather information if he has access to Stark's home office. Perhaps even obtain his trust and have the truth of his and Mrs.Stark's relationship. Peter started to fidget,"How about you?"

"If I'm at the house, which is rare, I'll be in my office and not to be disturbed unless my son is in immediate danger--Come on, kid. I have people to greet. Yes or no? No or yes?"

" _Yes,_ " Peter breathed out, his cheeks still warm after his almost slip up. "Yes, I'll--yes."

Stark reached inside his vest's pocket and pulled out a card.

"Come by Monday at nine. I'll introduce you to the rascal before I head off to Massachusetts."

"Massa--huh?"

"Massachusetts." Stark smirked. "I have to try out those inventions somewhere, don't I?"

Stark gave a last award-winning smile and patted his back as a good-bye, which made Peter stagger.

Peter blinked, and he immediately searched across the room for Steve, spotting his handsome and pale friend gawking at him with concern etched in his face right where he and Stark last left him.

Peter rushed to his side and breathed out.

" _What did you do_?" Steve asked.

"I became Stark's...nanny," Peter said slowly as he realised the reality of his situation.

" _God_ , Peter," Steve began, starting to compose a speech of honour and justice, as he always did at Oscar's, but Peter tuned him out.

Peter's senses were hyper alert on only two things: the feeling of Stark's crisp business card between his shaking fingers, and the lingering warmth of Stark's firm pat between his shoulders.


	2. Cigars & Absences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From strange absences at dinner to hissed reprimands discussed over cigars, the Stark family is more tumultuous than Peter had originally thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank so so so much for the comments and kudos! They're really appreciated!
> 
> A little, not-so, spoiler: The "unrequited love" tag is not for our main couple as you will see as the story progresses; rest assured. c:

As soon as Peter opened the door to the seemingly empty kitchen, he heard a loud scoff.

"Does it take that long to do an interview worth a page?" MJ muttered as she slipped off a stool nearby the exit door.

Peter grinned. "I didn't get an interview."

MJ's head snapped to the left to look at him. " _Peter_ \--"

"I got a job. With Stark," Peter said. "I'm going to take care of his child while he and Mrs. Stark are unavailable. Which is practically all the time--"

"And _how does_ this help with the blackmail?" MJ grabbed his shoulders. "Peter, you do realise this isn't how you get rid of tabs, _right_? You can't just move from job to job. You just give them more reason to--"

Peter nodded. "I'm doing this job as an undercover. I'll explain it to Toomes. He'll understand--he'll _love_ the idea."

" _Toomes_?" MJ scoffed. "Peter, he'll _skin_ you for this!"

"He won't," Peter poked his friend as he slipped into his heavy jacket. "Snooping around offices that don't belong to me? He will be thrilled."

* * *

" _Undercover_?" Toomes snarled. "You do realise, Mr. Parker, that we are running a _legal_ and neutral newspaper, correct?"

"But--"

"We're _journalists_ , kid. Not spies. Not women. Not _pigs_." Toomes articulated, tapping his pen against the desk for each syllable.

"But Stark--"

"What is this whining?"

Toomes cleared his throat at the snappy voice, and Peter turned around. An odd, light-haired man was watching both of them from the door, his face scrunched up in distaste.

"Boss," Toomes began. _Boss_? "This is Parker, the brat who keeps trying to play war--"

"Oh yes," the man rolled his eyes. "You have a record of misconduct, young man."

Peter frowned. "Who I have as friends should _not_ \--"

The man laughed out loud,"This is not about your colored associates, Parker. Come _on_ , kid. Everyone in this office interacts with them folks. Am I right, Toomes?"

Toomes looked down,"Correct, boss."

The man grinned, clearly taking pleasure out of Toomes' uneasy shift in demeanour. "Lovely, little daughter. Beautiful. Too bad she's colored."

Peter saw Toomes' hands turn into fists as he tried to control his anger.

"Come to my office, Parker," the odd man grinned wider, noticing that he had finally affected someone with his sharp words. "I heard the name Stark."

Peter followed the head of the newspaper up the building's elevator, his hands shaking in his pockets,"Do you know Mr. Stark?"

"Unfortunately. Lets just say that Stark and Hammer do not go well together."

 _Hammer, right_. Peter cleared his throat. "Well, I'm sure after this paper that I'll write, Stark and Parker won't be a nice mix either."

Hammer chuckled lightly. "You pack quite a devious mind for a pretty boy."

Peter stiffened.

Hammer smirked as he walked towards his office and opened its door. "That little get-together every Saturday at the Woodrow Apartments, where men supposedly discuss metaphysics and the arts?" Hammer made a face as he motioned for Peter to close the door and sit down. " _That_ must be the most blatant, homosexual excuse I have ever heard in my goddamn life."

Peter blanched, "I--"

"Whatcha call it?" Hammer said taking a seat at his desk. " _Oscar's Place_? Goddamn. You think you homosexuals are the most educated cocks out there? It's idiotic to name a place after that Irish blemish. Eventually, someone would have put two and two together."

Peter glowered,"It was named after a _friend_."

Hammer scoffed. "I swear... If I didn't despise Stark this much, I would have you write a list of names for the front page. _New York's Pillow Biters_. You at number one. Your friend... Steven, is it? Would follow you down that list. But luckily for you, you're one of my best writers. So I know when's a good time to burn men in hell, and when's the time to burn them out for my pleasure."

Peter stiffened. He opened his mouth to reply, to give a rebuttal, but nothing was coming out. This was exactly what people back in his community warned him about. Beatings, getting sacked, misfortune that will follow him until death--

Hammer looked bored. "So, what's with Stark? Does he go to Oscar, too?"

Peter shook his head. "He--uh--I was hired to take care of his younger son."

Hammer guffawed,"Are you trying to actively out yourself, pretty boy?"

"There's plenty of things going horribly wrong at the Stark household, and within a matter of months I can confirm them all."

Hammer pursed his lips together as he flipped over a few papers. "No."

" _No_?"

"Not unless you can give me a good paper by the end of this month, consider yourself sacked and reported."

"What?"

"You heard me." Hammer slammed his hand. "End of this month. A good, edited paper on Stark's posh, little world, and I'll let you be happily bent over for the rest of your miserable life."

" _You_!" Peter stood up, his face red with fury. " _You can't do that_! What if I don't find _anything_? I'm your best writer!"

"George will soon come back from the war," Hammer rolled his eyes. "Get to work, then. I'll be checking on you weekly."

Peter blinked back tears and stormed towards the door.

"And Parker?"

Peter's hand tightened on the doorknob.

"There are rich men out there that would love to get between your legs and sink in for hours on end. I suggest that if in twenty days you haven't found anything on Stark, you come to me and ask for names. I'm sure you can make me enough money to repay me. Not enough as the Stark story, but I'll be merciful."

Peter slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing for several minutes in his head.

* * *

Peter was _absolutely furious_. He wasn't going to admit it, but he had spent time at home thinking about his brief chat with Stark. When he arrived at the office, Peter had recently made up his mind about not letting others take advantage of him and now-- _God_.

He felt sick, tired, weak, and above all, _hurt_.

Why were people so inhumane? Where was the same harmony he had at his old job at the deli shop near his house? Where Harry could come in and peck his lips and Ms. Giordano wouldn't bat an eye? Where Steve stared at Bucky for hours and hours and none of Giordano's sons said anything about it?

Damn everything.

Peter was _livid_. He was going to Stark's house, and he was going to refuse the offer, go back to Hammer and give him one good punch--

The door he apparently was knocking-- _I should really start paying attention to what I'm doing_ \--opened, but Peter didn't see anyone through the crack of the door. "...Good...morning?"

"Hello."

Peter looked down and saw a bright orange blob of hair squishing itself through the opened space. "I'm Peter. Can I come in?"

The little boy gave a large smile. "Hi Peter. I'm Edward."

"Can I come in and see your father?"

Edward giggled, "You need a password. We can't let the enemy in- _fall_ -trate our ranks. Orders from the General."

Peter felt his anger slightly cooling off as he gave a small smile. "General Anthony?"

"No, dummy, General Rhodey," Edward giggled. "General Daddy is MEA."

"M _I_ A."

Edward made a loud sound. "That's not the password."

"Yeah--it's--Nevermind. Is the password, 'Let me in and I'll take you to the fair tomorrow'?"

Edward gasped, "Are you my new nanny?"

"Y--"

"Can we go to the cinema? To the park? To the beach? I want to go to the ballpark. And the--"

"I can't do that," Peter said. " _Unles..._ you let me in."

Edward giggled and opened the door. "Daddy's in the dungeon. But he's speaking to the enemy." He motioned Peter to follow him down a hall. "He's a prisoner of war. He's being...inter-inter--"

"Interrogated."

" _Yes_!" Edward pointed at a slightly opened door and lowered his voice. "I need you to kil-- _eliminate_ the enemy and save him. The fate of the United States is in your hands."

Peter smiled at Edward's theatrics, but he was too distracted by Edward's word choice to play along. He quietly stepped towards the door and raised his hand to knock, but he instantly stopped himself as soon as he heard a woman's furious tone from beyond the door.

"If we lose this war, keep in mind that's it's _your_ doing!"

"Carter, I am giving you weapons. I am giving you missiles, technology, tactics-- _Do you want me to sell my soul, too_?"

Peter felt his face go terribly hot at Stark's raised voice. _God_ , stop it, _you idiot_.

"It's not your soul, it's the advantage you give us. _Anthony_ , you are good friends with these men. They will not see you coming. _Please_. No one else can do it."

There was a tense silence before someone slammed a wooden surface. Behind Peter, Edward jumped. " _Don't you fucking dare, Carter!_ Did you rope him into this?"

"He came to the offices voluntarily. We didn't--"

"Howard is just a _boy_!"

" _Howard is a_ _citizen of the United fucking States, and he cares about the fate of millions_! Unlike his ruthless father."

Something else slammed on the desk, and Peter heard rapid footsteps. He quickly composed himself and ran inside a slightly opened room--Edward holding onto his leg, as the other person--Ms. Peggy, Peggy Carter--opened the office door.

She looked back and pursed her lips. "This isn't over, Anthony. This country needs you."

Peter heard Stark's voice respond lowly.

Peggy gave a sad smile, "I know. But sometimes, there are things more important than safety. Keep that in mind, Tony. Have a nice day."

She turned around and-- _shit_ \--made eye contact with Peter. She smiled at him and walked away towards the entrance of the house.

 _She knew I was here_? Peter slowly made his way to the opened office and was quickly met with the sight of Stark staring into a corner of the room, a half-finished cigar resting between his teeth.

"Good morning, Mr. Stark."

Stark blinked out of his reverie and peered at Peter. "Chef Peter. Brother of the super soldier."

"Ah, no. His friend."

"Right, right. Peter Parker."

Peter tried not to think about how his name rolled effortlessly out of Stark's mouth. "Correct."

"He's Private Peter!" Edward chirped. _Lord_. Peter had forgotten the little child was tugging one side of his trousers down. "He saved you from the interrogation!"

Stark rose an eyebrow and stared at Peter's red face. "Did you hear Peggy and--"

"No. _Yes_. _No_. Yes. I--I didn't understand anything. Words, but no context. Y-you know?"

Stark crushed his cigar on his ashtray and gave a short laugh. "Relax, kid. We weren't discussing anything serious."

"Are you sure? You mentioned weapons, and she mentioned advantages, thus she must work for the military somehow." Peter said. "Whatever she's offering you must be crucial at the very least. She said she will be coming back."

Stark stared at Peter, his face portraying a strange look that Peter couldn't decipher. "Keep deducting, kid. You're getting there. I'll give you a clue. Who am I? What's something you can tell as soon as you're introduced to me?"

 _Handsome, rich, arrogant, proud, aloof, yet aware_. Peter wanted to smack himself. _Come on, Peter. Be serious. Use your instincts. You are trying to impress Anthony goddamned Stark_. "You..." _Advantage. Peggy said something about knowing someone--advantage. Selling his soul? What can_ \-- Peter stepped forwards unconsciously, as he always does when he's excited about something he figured out on his own. "Anthony Stark. _Stark_. That's German. Peggy...Peggy wants you to talk with other Germans you might know from either past negotiations or any relationships your father or yourself have built throughout the years."

" _Ja_ , good, kid, _gut_." Stark stared at him for a couple of seconds before looking away. "Be careful. Carter might whisk you away to espionage for the British as well."

"I wouldn't mind. It's helping the country, is it not?"

Stark immediately stood up, and he headed towards the door, completely leaving the conversation.

 _Did he just._..?

" _Ed_!" Peter heard Stark shout from a faraway room. "What do you want to eat today?"

Edward let go of Peter's trousers and screeched, " _Nothing_!"

"Peter-- _Private_ Peter is a chef. He saved me when I was in the hungry villages of Jones... _town_." Stark appeared once again at the office door with a suitcase. "You can trust his cooking, General Stark."

Edward peered up at Peter, his eyes filled with awe, and then nodded rapidly. "Thank you for the info- _may_ -tion, General. My powerful rank will eat...pasta."

Stark hummed, "Good choice. Peter," Stark stepped towards Peter, and quickly motioned to his unmade tie when Peter didn't do anything. "I had to reschedule Massachusetts, because today I will be heading to Brooklyn. _So_. I'll be back by six. Dinner should be almost done by then. Pepper will arrive at three, so anything you can teach her will be appreciated. Howard's timing is all over the place, so make dinner for five guests."

Peter finished Stark's tie and quickly stepped back, trying not to laugh or cry. The tie looked like a automobile crash.

Edward noticed and started giggling.

Stark frowned in confusion, but he kept walking towards the entrance of his home.

" _Stark_!" Peter blurted out, giving him a sharp intake of déjà vu. Peter ran up to him and untied the contraption, and he stepped back, giving a forced smile. "You look better without the tie."

Stark raised a terribly confused eyebrow,"Have a good day, kid."

 

* * *

 

"--but that's not possible!" Edward shrieked, as he swung his short legs against the cupboards set beneath the counter he was sitting at. " _That's too tall_!"

"I _know_!" Peter said scooping the linguini from the pot into Edward's bowl. "It has to be a chemical compound. I would guess that it is in  form of an injection."

"Can I meet him?"

Peter pursed his lips, thinking about how Steve would snap at him for showing him around like a woman would her engagement ring. "Sure. He'll be excited to meet you."

Edward made a celebratory sound.

Peter looked at the clock ticking away at the kitchen wall. It was six-thirty in the evening. Neither did Mrs. or Mr. Stark arrive yet. In addition, a suave, unrecognisable voice had called earlier to inform Peter that he was the young Howard Stark, but he wouldn't be visiting until Wednesday.

Peter sighed at the abundant amount of pasta. Maybe he could take some home--?

A door slammed somewhere in the large home.

" _Mommy_!" Edward squealed.

"Sorry to dissa--" Stark stopped at the kitchen entrance. " _Good Lord_ , that smells delicious."

"Thanks," Peter said.

"Where's Pepper?"

Edward crossed his arms, "Mommy's not here."

Stark forcefully set his suitcase against the counter, consequently giving Peter a fright, making him drop the ladle inside the boiling water.

There was an immediate shift in the air from a relaxed evening to a stiff and cold dinner. Peter could not help but peek at Stark's tense body, reminding him of the night he met him. His glowers, his aloof nature, and his sharp, cold words that made everyone in the conversation uncomfortable--

 _This_  was what Peter was here to investigate.

Stark cleared his throat. "I have to make a call. I'll be back right away."

As soon as Stark was gone, Peter turned to Edward and pointed at the plates and utensils. "Can you set the table for our rank of soldiers, General Stark?"

"Yes, sir!" Edward nodded enthusiastically.

Peter slipped away, and he tried to pinpoint the nearest phone in the home from his memory, realising it was in the family room as soon as he heard Stark's voice give a sharp command from inside the room.

Peter laid against the wall and listened.

"Hi Jack, is your dad home? ... Great, yes, I'll wait ... Rhodey. It's me. Tony. Yes, is Pepper there? ... Can you tell her to eat dinner with us tonight? I have to talk to her about the company-- Yes, I know. ... _I know_. ... Rho-- _Rhodey_ \-- Can you-- She's my _wife_ , James. James? Rhodey? _Damn it_."

Peter heard the phone slam, and he quickly sprinted to the kitchen, where Edward was already taking seconds. "General, that's too much," Peter said, his breath short and rapid. Edward just grinned through his tomato sauce filled mouth.

Peter quickly served himself some water and gulped it down, only to catch a fit of coughing as he failed to swallow it down his dry throat.

"Peter," Stark said coming into the room and patting his back. "You okay there? What happened?"

Edward opened his mouth to explain, but Peter quickly made eye contact and shook his head. If Edward made _one_ untoward , revealing explanation, Peter would be done for--

Edward giggled and went back to his plate.

Stark took ahold of Peter's shoulder, and he pressed him down to sit down, while Stark served him water. Peter jumped up as Stark slammed the glass of water against the table, making the other china on the furniture's surface shake.

Stark sat at the head of the table and started to eat, oblivious to the tense atmosphere.

"Mommy's not coming home tonight," Edward said quietly, and that was all Peter needed to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to university and work, I can't promise a new chapter for next weekend, but I'll try to make that personal deadline! Until then, thanks for reading! :D


	3. Ties & Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With two weeks remaining until the publishing of the article, Peter faces a few, unexpected opponents that might ruin everything he's trying to salvage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much once again for kudos/comments! Enjoy the third chapter!

Peter breathed out deeply, firmly rubbing his face as he tried to gain focus and awareness of his bleak surroundings.

  
His gas lamp had extinguished a few hours ago, and he hadn't bother to refill it. Fortunately for him, dawn was slowly approaching, and the objects scattered around his small desk were starting to be visibly clear...and readable.

  
Peter yanked his draft from his beaten-up typewriter and tried to reread what he had written.

_German sympathisers hiding in plain sight_

_Unbeknownst to our hardworking, patriotic city of New York, corrupt and manipulative business men with wavering loyalties reside in our boroughs. The most prominent and crucial of them all: Anthony Edward Stark, a direct descendant of German immigrants, who has shamelessly charmed his way into American society._

_With his liberal remarks of appointing his wife, Virginia Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, it is easy to consider the technological expert a passable member of America's progressive ideologies--but this is not the true side of Stark._  
_Stark has undoubtedly been supplying our great nations with "missiles, technology, tactics", but it has all been for a sinister purpose._

_  
Inside the Stark household, Virginia Stark, an American supporter of her country's advancements in soldier and combat strategies, has taken the initiative to seek asylum from her husband's suffocating treachery, oftentimes sacrificing her time with her own children to find peace within herself and the secrets she must keep._

Peter felt a headache roaming its way inside him. He had more than a dozen days before he had to even think about Hammer's...alternative, but Peter already felt like a lost cause.

Even though he might uncover some disapproving truths, he knew, when the moment came, he will have a difficult time driving a knife through Anthony Stark's heart.

  
Stark, Peter unintentionally found out, is a kind, gentle man behind his sharp mask and occasional drunken fits. For every day in the past week Peter had been a witness to Stark's small gifts. Fresh bouquet of flowers--always white marigolds--meant for Pepper (but never received by her) and small technological circuit boards from his laboratories for Edward to dissemble and assemble during the day.

Yesterday was Peter's first day of being a recipient of the thoughtful gifts--a recently published research book concentrating in 20th century chemical experiments. Peter had successfully blinked back tears, not expecting Stark to have had remembered the blabbering Peter had on Wednesday evening whilst preparing pumpkin pie.

  
He had _actually_ remembered.

  
Peter was positively sure Stark had been fully immersed in taking apart the monstrosity of a faulty missile he had set on the dining table that day--but apparently Peter had been wrong.

  
What else might Peter be wrong about? Peter _did_ manage to get this job based merely on the fact of his blabbering.  
Maybe something he said caught Stark's attention.

  
He could not help but imagine Stark looking up from his tools and staring at Peter's back as he rolled the pie's dough, discussing noble gases as if they were the greatest elements known to man. Stark probably smiled at his theatrics and... _or_ maybe his attention drifted away to Peter's build. Maybe he stared a bit too long at Peter's lean arms, his gaze lingering on Peter's sharp jaw, his eyes roaming further down to his perky--

  
" _Stop it_ ," Peter snapped, hitting his head against the wall behind him. "Anthony Stark did not look at your _buttocks_."

  
" _What_?"

  
Peter jumped from his stool, slamming his knees against his desk and hissing loudly in pain.

  
MJ fully entered Peter's quaint bedroom, squinting in the semi-dark. "I swear if Stark is another Harry, but with money, I _will_ _murder_ \--Why do you have so many ties on the floor? What the-- _Peter. Stand up_. There's men out there _dying_ , and you're here. On the floor. With _ties_."

  
Peter rolled his eyes, "I'm practicing tying a knot. Stark's last caretaker used to tie it for him every morning, and he expects the same from me."

  
"I didn't know you owned so many." She crossed her arms. "Is this why we're starving?"

  
Peter smiled nervously. "These are all Stark's."

  
MJ rose an eyebrow, already not impressed with Peter's excuse.

  
"I've been telling him he doesn't need a tie for his suit all week! And I sort of...hold onto them...and I don't know where to...uh...place them back."

  
" _Peter_."

  
"His house is enormous!"

  
MJ scoffed and knelt down to pick up the four ties on the floor. "So you're not sleeping with him?"

  
"No. _No_! No! I'm--I was talking to myself. He's in love with his wife, and I'm--I--I'm not looking."

  
MJ guffawed, placing three of the ties inside Peter's bag. "In other words, he's not a homosexual." She took the remaining tie and looped it around Peter's head. "Peter Parker, be careful."

  
Peter sighed deeply, his headache clearly coming in full force. "I will. I promise."

  
MJ shook her head. "No, you don't." She stepped back and crossed her arms again, giving a raised eyebrow to Peter's typewriter. "What are you writing?"

As always, she didn't wait for her best friend to answer and peered at the empty typewriter and then at Peter's desk. Before Peter's fast reflexes could kick in, MJ had already taken his draft and walked towards the window to read.

  
Peter sighed and started tracing the designs on the tie resting against his chest. "Hammer, the boss of Toomes... Knows about Oscar's. He wants dirt on Stark to keep it a secret. It's not just me in the line, Michelle. It's everyone in our community."

  
MJ lowered the page from her eyesight and stared at him. Peter could never tell what was going on in her mind unless she outright said it.

  
"Michelle?"

  
"Is it the truth though? Is he a Third Reich supporter?"

  
Peter looked away.

  
" _Peter_."

  
"They want him to blackmail his friends, and he refuses to do it. That's--I might be stretching the truth here, but do I really have a choice?"

  
"They?"

  
"The Army. They want him to go after his German business partners."

  
"How many months do you have until you publish this?"

  
"I--uh--two weeks."

  
"Two-- _Lord_ , Peter."

  
"I know, I _know_ ," Peter mumbled, willing his watery eyes to dry up. "I hate this. _I hate this_. I _hate_ hurting people. But I love our community. I love having a space where we can be ourselves and love whoever we desire. _And_...and I can't let a feud between Hammer and Stark take that away from me. I have to stretch the truth. Regardless who I ruin in the process."

  
MJ nodded. "It's not just you on the line."

  
"Exactly."

  
MJ sighed and hugged him. Peter let out a breathless laugh, knowing this was the best way MJ could show comfort.

She squeezed him tightly for a second before stepping back and tugging on the tie around his neck. "Now, watch how I do it. _Lord_ , I will deeply fail my mother if I don't manage to teach you how to tie a damned knot."

 

* * *

 

 

"Make dinner for three. Howard called last night and told me he was working." Stark muttered as he closed his suitcase. "I'll arrive around eight and-- _oh_. So today I _do_ need a tie."

  
Peter gave a smile as he held up a red tie. "You told me you had a statewide meeting, so I thought, why not go in full uniform?"

  
Stark rose an eyebrow. "I did." He said, but Peter couldn't figure out if it was a question or a statement, so he just smiled.

  
Stark's mood has been deteriorating ever since the week started, and Peter has been trying to grapple with it and improve it--to no avail.

  
Stark was obviously displeased with his wife's absence, yet, he wasn't doing anything to fix it. All the flowers he brought were left thrown across the kitchen sink--and once, in the garbage can--as if Stark gave up pursuing his wife the moment he noticed she wasn't greeting him home.

  
The whole situation was bizarre to Peter. Either he had a false premonition of the wealthy and their possessiveness, or Stark was unresponsive when it comes to unrequited feelings.

  
_Not unresponsive_ , Peter pondered, as he took a step towards Stark. _Dispirited is a better word_.

  
Peter took a quick breath, as he rose his hands to slip the tie around his boss's head. His senses were absurdly sensitive when it came to Stark. Anxious, yet eager of whatever Stark will do next.

 _Stop it, Peter, seriously_ \--

  
His breath hitched. Stark's heady aroma was suddenly everywhere. It wasn't pleasant, a tinge of sweat mixed with motor oil.

  
And liquor.

  
"Were you working on that faulty missile all night?" Peter murmured as he straightened the silk cloth.

"I found the error," Stark opted to answer, rather than directly affirming Peter's deduction.

  
"I know," Peter said tying the knot. "If you didn't, you would still be in the basement, and Edward would still be sleeping."

  
Stark stared. "Don't think much about it, kid. I just realised that there are priorities I have to rearrange when Pepper decides to leave us."

  
Peter lowered his voice. "A kid really appreciates that, you know? Seeing his father and all. Especially now. W-with the war." Peter gave him a sad smile. "I suggest you keep the momentum. Even after she comes back."

  
Stark hummed in response, the vibration going through Peter's palms. Peter was immediately aware of his hands resting against Stark's warm chest and quickly removed them.

  
"I--" Stark cleared his throat. "Now that you're working here, I have to--My wife's not coming back, kid, and--"

  
"You don't know that."

  
" _I do_. The point is--"

  
"She didn't-- _You gave up_!"

"Goddamn," Stark said, clearly annoyed that Peter kept insisting. " _Shut_ your mouth, kid."

  
" _No_ , I will _not_ , you can't just drink everything away, St-Tony--"

  
" _You_ ," Stark snarled, making Peter take a step back in precaution. "Don't know _anything_. What I do with _my_ alcohol, what I do with _my_ wife, _my fucking kids_ , is none of your concern, Peter." He took a step forwards. "And apparently you haven't been _smacked_ enough to know that when someone above you is talking, you close your _mouth_ \--"

  
"You're still drunk," Peter sighed.

"And you're still a _hoodlum_ from Queens."

  
" _You don't know me either_!"

  
"I don't need to, kid," Stark snapped. "Welcome to life. Where you think _you're_ miserable, living off _my_ money and _criticising me_ , who is in fact, being sucked the soul out of him by countless others who are _never fucking satisfied!_ "

"I'm not just hired help, Mr. Stark," Peter croaked out. "You don't know what I have to... _you don't_ \--"

  
A door slammed within the house.

" _Mommy_!" Edward shrieked in relief.

  
Peter could feel his own cheeks heat up at his lack of responsibility. All their yelling must have disturbed the child as he ate alone in the kitchen.

  
Pepper Stark herself slipped in the family room, where both Tony and he were still slightly shaking from their outbursts. Edward was holding onto her skirts, rambling about military weapons.

  
"Darling, are you all right?" Pepper said looking straight at Peter.

  
Peter nodded and immediately felt what Mrs. Stark was referring to. A tear trailed down his chin. Since when was he crying?

  
Pepper moved her gaze to her husband, rapidly changing from concern to disappointment. "You're drunk, Tony? At _seven_ in the morning?"

  
Stark was still. "Pepper. You're here."

  
"Yes," she said, her demeanour shifting to a somber one. "Help me find James, Anthony."

  
"What? Rhodey?"

  
Pepper's cheeks went pink, as if she was holding down a flare of emotions. "The children and I woke up this morning to an empty house. We found this."

  
She held out a page towards Peter. Remembering Stark's receiving peeve, he scrambled forwards and held it up to Stark's gaze. Peter quickly read the message himself. It was clearly written using a crusty typewriter--the "t"s and the "r"s were barely pressed into the sheet.

 

_Virginia,_

_  
James Rhodes has been drafted. Thank you for your lover's sacrifice._

 

 

 _Lover_.

The page merely fell out of Peter's hand, but he quickly composed himself. _Lover. Lover lover lover_. _It isn't just unrequited love. There's another between them. There was_ \--

  
"He _can't_ , Tony," Pepper whispered. "He's disabled. Why did they do this? _Lord_ , Tony, surely you can talk to that woman, please? Peggy? The one we met at the Jones' ball? _Please_ , she must--"

  
"Peter," Stark spoke up. Peter blinked. "Start the car's engine. We're going downtown. Pep, stay here with Edward."

  
" _Tony_ \--"

  
"I'll bring him back."

  
Pepper closed her mouth and nodded, tears blinking out of her eyes. " _Thank you_ , Anthony."

  
Stark nodded shortly, leaving his suitcase on a nearby table. "Can you call the office for me? Tell them I'm not going--Tell you what, go down there. Represent me."

  
Pepper shook her head. " _Tony_ \--"

Stark stepped towards Peter, who was leaving to the garage, and grabbed his hand to stop him in his tracks. " _Yes_ , Pepper. Peter, forget what I said. Go to my office. Get my address book and call Peggy Carter. Tell her to come _immediately_." Stark let go of Peter's hand and turned to Pepper. "We _will_ fix this. Go to the meeting, Pep. Be the Industries' CEO. It's what _you_ wanted."

  
"But Howard-"

  
"I don't want him, Pep, I want _you_. The Industries needs _you_."

  
Pepper pursed her lips together,"As long as you promise to bring back James."

  
"Rhodey will be here once you come back. I swear on my life."

  
Peter slipped away, trying to wrap his mind around everything. _Mrs. Stark is with James Rhodes. Stark tolerates--to a point--their relationship. Stark still dearly loves her. She doesn't... She said that she and the children woke up to the letter-- Are those kids hers as well? Does Stark know? Which relationship started first? Did Stark marry her knowing she loved another? Did she fall in love with James Rhodes during her marriage? Why target James Rhodes--_

  
Peter gasped in fright once he opened Stark's office door. On the desk's chair sat the one and only Peggy Carter. She was having a hushed debate with a tall, dark-haired, handsome man.

Well...She seemed like they were having a debate; the young, smirking man looked like they were bantering.

Peggy faced the door and nodded,"Peter Parker. I thought he might sent you ahead."

  
The young man tucked his hands inside his pockets and strutted towards Peter. "Are my parents still fighting?" He rose a hand. "Howard."

  
"Peter," Peter said, shaking Howard's hand with his own clammy one. Howard gave him a Stark grin, and Peter's knees almost buckled on the spot. _Stop. It. Stop. Stark is an asshole. Called you a hooligan. Measured you to nothing. His son won't be any different_. "Your father is trying to convince Pepper to represent him in his meeting today."

  
Howard rolled his eyes. "That bloody company is all he fucking thinks about."

  
Peter rose his eyebrows.

  
"Sorry," Howard grinned. "Miss Carter over here is a horrible influence." He dropped his easy grin, a strange expression replacing it. "Did he...uh...mention me? As an alternate? For the meeting?"

  
"Peter," Peggy said before Peter could respond. "Do you plan to work for the Starks indefinitely?"

"Why?" Peter said slowly.

  
"I have a proposition f--Good morning, Anthony."

  
Peter jumped and turned around. Stark was rigidly standing at the door, glaring at the intruders. Despite the situation, Stark didn't seem surprised at their spontaneous appearance.

  
"Howard, Peggy, what a _coincidence_." Stark snarled.

  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Good morning to you as well." Howard scoffed. "Let's get to the point, Father. You know we're behind this predicament. Therefore, here's our request. Contact Doctor Heinrich Weber. Have a beer together. Have a talk about the good old days. Reminisce over that _stupid_ lake in Munich or wherever it is, where you would reel in girls like a pair of punks. Ask him how it has changed since then. Try to get details. Any new camps around, any bases, any disappearances, sudden migrations, _anything_ you can find out for us, really." Howard lowered the intensity of his stare and tilted his head towards Peter, smirking at him. "Schedule that for him, Petey. And once you jot that appointment down, Rhodey will be home by dinner."

  
"Don't shove Peter into this mess of yours," Stark snapped and yanked on Howard's vest. "This is among you, me, and _your_ constant, childish attempts to make something of yourself."

  
Howard scowled and shoved his father. "At least I'm something that has _worth_."

  
" _Gentlemen_!" Peggy cried, running towards them.

Stark rose his fist, but Peter quickly stepped in front of him. Stark lowered his arm and jabbed at Peter, "Don't get involved, kid. _You_ \--"

  
" _God_ , when are you ever sober?" Howard spoke up from behind Peter. Peter almost groaned in annoyance, if he wasn't so paralysed at Stark's stare. "I don't think you ever were, even when Mom used to actually _live_ here."

  
Stark shoved Peter out of the way, but Peter held on. " _Stark! Tony! Think of Rhodey!_ "

  
Stark stilled and glowered at Peter. He didn't say anything as his heated mind caught up to Peter's warning. Peter slowly let go of Stark's biceps, which--Peter quietly noticed--were quite toned.

Peter gave a small smile, and Stark seemed to slightly relax.

"You're right," Peter whispered. "I don't know anything, but...I'm here for _you_ , To-Stark. I'm not just your hired help. Not just a...hooligan."

  
Stark frowned, taking into consideration his spoken words. "You're--you're not, Peter. I'm sorry...for that."

  
Peter gave another smile. "It's okay. We were both wrong, but--" He heard Peggy clear her throat, and he gave a short nod. "I'll leave you to it."

  
Peter stepped back, and he nodded to both Howard and Peggy, the former gaping and the latter raising an eyebrow in surprise. Peter felt his face getting red, and he quickly left the office, closing the door behind him.

  
"- _think with that immaturity I'll hand you the fucking Industries?_ "

Oh God.

  
At least Stark took the offensive measure of parental scolding rather than an outright brawl.

  
Peter returned to the family room and saw Edward laying against the leg of an armchair, his eyes slightly closed. He bent down and picked up the child, "Did your mommy leave?"

  
Edward nodded and rested his head against Peter's neck. "I'm tired."

  
"Me, too," Peter said to him as he took the boy to his bedroom.

* * *

 

Once Peter came downstairs, the house was completely empty. Stark's suitcase was gone, none of the usual cars were parked in the garage, and the office was deserted. He sighed as his early morning headache kept pounding inside his head.

  
This was a prime time to keep investigating.

  
He close the door behind him and took in a deep breath before walking behind Stark's desk.

He sat down and started pulling on the drawers, but none of them opened.

He bbut his lip in frustration and fished one of MJ's stray hairpins out of his trousers. He kneeled down and started to pick on the main drawer's lock until it gave a satisfying click.

  
Peter yanked it open and froze as soon as he saw his name on a sheet of paper. The note was handwritten, cursive and neat.

 

_To Peter Parker_

_  
Henchman of Hammer Inc.,_

_  
If you wish to save yourself and avoid the eternal suffering that the Stark name will give you for this inexcusable snooping, come to this address tomorrow at 1800. Formal Attire. Introduce yourself as my plus one._

_  
I have an offer you can't, in any circumstances, refuse._

_  
Howard_

 

* * *

 

 

"--not the same concept, but it doesnt really matter to a chemist, does it? It's not the same application when you're examining a smaller subject, a microscopic one at that. And--you're not listening."

  
" _I am_ ," Peter snapped.

  
Stark rose his eyebrow, but he didn't address his tone. "What are we discussing?"

  
"Covalent bonds."

  
"That was merely an hour ago. I'm talking about ionic mixtures in psychics--"

  
"Keyword being  _I'm_."

  
"--and that pancake you're flipping? It's burnt as hell."

  
"Shouldn't you be at work by now?"

  
"It's Saturday. Peter, what's wrong with you? I said I was sorry. I bought you _churros_."

  
Peter sighed and discarded the pancake, pouring a new batch onto the pan. He wanted to call out Stark and tell him that material gifts on their own were not a valid apology, but he knew Stark was trying his best.

From yesterday morning to today, Stark had already made the _very_ impressive improvement of not being drunk or even hangover. He had actually treated Peter as a human being when he came in, informing him about James Rhodes' safety and asking him how Edward dealt with Pepper's absence all week long.

  
In addition, it wasn't like Stark had many people he could discuss his passions with. Peter was his sole companion by the looks of it.

  
Peter would be lying if he said that didn't make his heart soar.

  
Peter turned around and faced Stark, consciously lowering his defences. "I have an activity tonight, and I'm nervous."

  
Stark stood up, making Peter's breath hitch for a second, and poured himself a new cup of coffee. "Oh? College?"

  
"No, a friend's party. I finished my bachelors already."

  
"You're twenty-two?"

  
"Twenty actually."

  
Stark smirked and lifted his mug towards Peter as a form of cheers. "You almost beat me by three years."

  
"Two," Peter smiled. "I graduated at nineteen."

  
"Try harder next time." Stark said. "I expected this new generation to beat me, but you kids are busy fighting and dying. Like Howard." Peter stiffened and turned once again to focus on the pancake batter. "Smart kid. Trying to perfect my designs. The hovercar is his favourite, but...his head is not in the right place."

  
"I say it is," Peter muttered. "He's _very_ passionate about your company."

  
"But he's even more passionate about this war. And too arrogant. Already telling everyone he's the heir. Sometimes he says he owns the damn Industries. Pepper has a clearer head than he does, if I'm honest. If he keeps dallying around, I'll make sure that the only way he inherits the Industries is when he's lowering both of us into our graves."

  
Peter frowned. "That's not fair."

  
"Is anything?"

  
"You can't expect a generation to surpass you, if you don't give them the opportunity." Peter gasped lightly as a plan formed in his head. "Give it to him. Give him the Industries." _And he'll forgive me, and we will make a deal on the Hammer fiasco._  "Think about it. This war will be his biggest challenge. If he can keep producing and working for the U.S. Army _and_ manage the company simultaneously, he will be able to do anything. Besides, it will keep him off your shoulders, for all that espionage they're forcing you to do."

  
Stark hummed in reply, but he didn't give any feedback. Peter rolled his eyes and poured in the last batch into the pan. There goes _that_ plan.

  
"Did you register to fight, kid?" Stark spoke up a few minutes later.

  
Peter shook his head and turned around to set the plate of pancakes on the table. "I'm not allowed." Stark rose his eyebrow. "I have asthma. Even being close to a cigar's smoke makes it difficult to breathe."

  
Stark snorted. "I bet you don't spend time around your old man that much, don't you?"

"He's dead."

Stark started cutting his stack of pancakes as if Peter just informed him of the weather. "Died in Britain?"

"France," Peter corrected and called Edward to come downstairs. He crossed his arms and faced Stark. "You know, it wouldn't hurt to be sympathetic sometimes."

"We're at war," Stark said. "Everyone's dy--"

"Just try to be grateful, too. You have wealth, amazing sons, Pep--"

" _Kid_ ," Stark warned.

  
"Live before you die," Peter blurted out. "Be grateful. Actually _laugh_ once in a while."

  
Stark glared at him for a few seconds before he faced his breakfast once again. "Go do your job, kid, or I'll leave you on the streets."

  
Peter fumed, waiting for Stark to look up and admit that Peter has a point, but the man kept chewing away. Peter rolled his eyes and slammed the door as he left the kitchen. He sighed as soon as he saw Edward gawking at him.

  
"Daddy's gonna get you," Edward sang as he slipped pass him to enter the kitchen.

  
"I'd like to see him try," Peter muttered as he went up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If all goes well, the fourth chapter will posted before/during the weekend. Thank you so much for reading!!


	4. Blueprints & Propositions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter doesn't have many options when it comes to the safety of the people he cares about, but he will try his hardest to chose the right one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for kudos and your comments! It's always such a joy seeing new ones. :) Here's another chapter, hopefully you'll enjoy this one more than the previous ones...for reasons.

Peter had no idea what he was going to encounter when he arrived at a private luxury building in Manhattan, but people sitting in tables and conversing over files wasn't even a viable option.

Sure, Peter deducted that Howard Stark worked with Agent Peggy Carter, but Peter didn't expected the young Stark to _actually_ invite him to what looked like an organisation get-together.  _Especially_ when Howard himself called Peter out for being a henchman of Hammer's company.

Nevertheless, it was a strange venue. People were chatting and drinking liquor as they made edits and wrote graphs and outlines on chalkboards. It looked like an elaborate, wealthy version of study groups Peter had when he was in university.

" _Petey!_ "

Peter jumped in fright but quickly relaxed as he heard that the voice was actually joyful--not like a man who was going to stab him and push him off a balcony facing the bay.

He turned around and saw Howard Stark walking towards him, dirty lab goggles perched around his neck, yet wearing an elegant midnight blue tuxedo.

"Guess what happened, pal," Howard grinned, grabbing Peter by the neck and hauling him towards an empty couch in a separate, smaller room. "My old man finally gave me the company. Isn't that-- _Fuck_. I still can't believe it. Fuck! We're going to drink tonight, Petey! We're-- _Say_ , did you have anything to do with that? I've been thinking about it all afternoon, and the last time Dad and I talked was when I called him the Devil himself. _Heh_. Did you use that Petey magic of yours to convince him?"

" _What_?" Peter scoffed, yet unbelievably awed at Stark's decision--even though he showed no interest in Peter's recommendation earlier that day. "I might have suggested it, but I didn't do anything special."

Howard laughed. "You don't know, do you, pal?" He smiled at a waitress passing by and grabbed two flasks from her tray, handing one to Peter. They clinked their drinks together and took their shots in one go. Peter grinned as the sharp taste went down his throat. The moment was exuberant to say the least. It has been quite a while since Peter had let his guard down and freely drank alcohol with someone around his own age.

Peter lightly shoved Howard's arm away and looked at him. "What don't I know?"

"That you are," Howard chuckled lightly, as if he couldn't believe what he was about to say. " _Very_ special, Peter. I have _never_ in my life seen my father apologise to anyone. Anyone. _Ever_. He's too proud, but you. _You_. Are the exception. Yesterday was an unbelievable experience. A miracle, I would say."

"I'm just trying to be a good friend," Peter said.

Howard snorted. "A friend."

"A _good_ friend, yes."

Howard playfully shoved Peter. "All right, Petey. Then, do you think you can preserve that friendship to the next level?"

Peter's smile dropped. He was getting so carried away with the news that he had forgotten he was actually there to receive backlash from a very, _very_ powerful New Yorker. "Is this about the offer you mentioned?"

"Of course," the young Stark rose an eyebrow. "You are very creative, and I want to congratulate you. Love your draft's title. _German sympathisers hiding in plain sight_. Great. Straight to point. The story itself? Not so much. You see, my father is not much of a Nazi. Quite the contrary I would say. A difficult man, _yes_. A sympathiser... _eh_. That's a bit _too_ far, isn't it, pal?"

Peter gulped. " _How_?" he said, but the word barely came out.

Howard hummed. "How? You left your bag laying around yesterday. It was a strange bag in my dad's home, and knowing how far enemies of this war would go, I took a peek. And, _wow_! I'm not the smartest one in this room for no reason."

Peter took another shot. "What now?" he asked in defeat.

"Great question, Petey," Howard said. " _What now_? Well, I'll tell you what. You should have been banished by Dad once he found out you were working for Hammer's little newspaper hobby. _Yet_. You're still taking care of Ed. Don't know how, but you're here. Employed by Dad. And, you're _great_ for Dad--spectacular even--but not so spectacular for me. _But_. You did get me my promotion, so I'm going to be merciful."

Peter cringed. If only Howard knew how similar he sounded like his business rival Hammer. "What do you want?"

"Not much," Howard shrugged. "How much is Hammer offering you? I'll double it."

"Nothing." Peter muttered, yet hopeful that Howard was actually trying to do good. "Just blackmail."

"What sort?"

"Social."

"As in?"

"Who I associate with."

"Race?"

"Sort of." Peter sighed and lowered his voice. "Gender, too."

Howard made an affirmative noise. "Sexually?"

"Bingo," Peter whispered, his face red.

"Well," Howard said slowly. "That's illegal and--it _will_ be hard to find anything against Hammer to combat that. But it's possible." Howard shrugged. "Give me a few weeks, and I'll get you out."

"I have to publish it in _two_!"

"Well, tone down your accusations!" Howard snapped. "Do you want me to lose my company before I even get to actually take it for a spin? Look, Petey, I like you. Like I said, _great_ for Dad, but you're literally bad news yourself."

Howard turned to look at Peter, and his face softened. _God, what now_? Peter reached up and felt no tears. Is he pale? Does he look like he was about to faint?

Howard grabbed his shoulders and squeezed them. "How about I give you cash? Move far away where Hammer's blackmail can't reach you?"

"He threatened to out everyone in my community. I can't." Peter whispered.

Howard pursed his lips together. "I'll think of something, Petey. Don't lose faith and _please_. _Stop_ writing."

"You'll help me?"

"If _you_ help _me_. I'm not Hammer, pal. Or Dad." Howard said. "I actually _care_ about the greater good. About moving past this damn war."

Peter nodded. "I'll stop writing, but I need your help. I can't-I don't want to cause more pain. To _anyone_."

Howard squeezed his shoulders one more time before letting go and drinking yet another shot. He nodded at Peter, yet a strange look was etched on his face.

"Something wrong?" Peter said, hoping any blush that has formed on his face to disappear. "You can tell me. I owe you so-"

"Are you... Are you and Dad...you know? Is that why he's keeping you-"

" _No_!" Peter assured. "Oh God, he's in love with your mother, not- We're _friends_. Or at least, that's what I'm trying to be. Your father is difficult and some days I can't stand him."

Howard's face relaxed as he let out a laugh. "I can't believe you actually work for him. Must be so uncomfortable being so close."

Peter cleared his throat, thinking about not being able to properly _breathe_ when he was in the presence of the brilliant, yet complicated Anthony Stark. "Yeah. Uncomfortable."

" _Well_ ," Howard said already up on his feet. "You're great, Petey, but I want to tell my coworkers the news. And Peggy wants to talk to you." He motioned to a dark figure who was smoking at a nearby balcony. "We'll be in touch. I'll reach out to you by Monday, pal. I knew you didn't mean harm ever since I first read that draft of yours. Even while you were talking bad of Dad, you were always... _praising him_. I knew I had to talk to you about it first, before actually condemning you to anything. You mean well, Petey."

"Thanks," Peter smiled. "You too, Howard. I wish you the best for you and your company."

Howard smirked. "See ya- Oh hi there, big guy. What's the-"

"I need to talk to Peter," a very familiar, pissed voice spoke behind Peter, and Howard shrugged before leaving them.

Peter turned in his spot and saw Steve Rogers glowering at him, his face pale white and eyes wide.

Peter gave a large smile. "Steve!"

" _Peter_!" Steve hissed.

"Why are you always so angry to see me? I thought we were friends," Peter pointed out.

"I'm not angry! I'm just very _concerned_. Peter, this is a SSR meeting."

"A what?" Peter said and quickly realised that it was the wrong question to ask. Steve was turning even paler. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"No _no no_ , we're _not_ doing that again." Steve snapped. "What are _you_ doing here? Why are you so cozy with Howard? Is he--"

"He's _not_. I'm just here to hear out some...propositions--"

" _No_ ," Steve interrupted. "Peter, all of these people are associated or are military spies, _agents_. Not your kind of area."

Peter frowned. "What do _you_ know about my area?"

"You're a sandwich maker, Peter."

"I'm an undercover journalist," Peter snarled. "I'm a chemist, I keep my sexuality a secret, I live with two illegal immigrants and my female, coloured best friend whom I'm not married to, speak multiple languages, and on occasion, jump from building to building when I'm extremely late to things. I'm highly qualified for anything they have to offer me."

Steve scowled in annoyance. "That's not what I meant."

"What _do_ you mean?"

Steve scoffed, "I'm not discussing this."

" _No_! What do you mean?"

"You're emotional, Peter," Steve said slowly. "You're usually all or nothing."

"That's not--"

"You have that job at Giordano's--"

" _Had_."

"Because of Harry."

Peter glared.

"He had his mechanic shop across the street." Steve continued. "You knew he ate there every day after work. You knew he skipped lunch because he was too invested in fixing cars. You would literally leave me in _rush hour_ to give him--"

"Okay, _okay_ , I get it."

" _No_. Let me finish." Steve jabbed him in the chest. "Once Harry's wife noticed her husband was feeling you up, they moved. To _California_. And what did _you_ do?"

"Steve, _I get it_."

" _What did you do_?" Steve repeated.

"I quit."

" _And_?"

"I bought a train ticket to California."

"And you expect me to believe that you're qualified to fight for this country? When at any moment you're willing to jump ship?" Steve shook his head. "Peter, you can be a great asset, and I _know_ this, but you're unreliable. You don't follow directions, you follow your heart."

"And is that so bad?" Peter whispered.

"In war? Yes. In love?" Steve laughed coldly. "The worse thing you can do."

Peter noticed for the first time Steve's worn out expression and placed a hand on Steve's firm chest. "How's Bucky?"

Steve shook his head. "I'm going to D.C. in a few weeks. I'll probably have a chance to ask. Mr. Barnes hasn't received a letter since August."

Peter bit his lip. "He's alive."

"You're sure?"

"I have amazing senses," he smiled. "I'll ask, too. Don't worry."

" _Peter_."

"I have to talk to Miss Peggy," Peter motioned to the woman crushing her cigar in an ashtray. "I-"

Steve grabbed onto his arm before Peter could leave. " _Peter_. Don't take anything she offers. _Please_. Just do me this one favour."

Peter yanked his arm away. "Steve, I already told you-"

"I can barely reach Bucky, Peter," he whispered. "Don't make me lose you, too."

Peter stared at him and turned away quickly. If only Steve knew. If only he knew how much harm Peter could cause him because of _feelings_ he had for a certain brooding inventor.

He reached Peggy's side and she pursed her lips. "Took you long enough," she said. "Those boys are really invested in you. Specially Rogers."

Peter shrugged. "I guess." Both conversations he had were already tiring him out. He cleared his throat, and Peggy offered him an unlit cigar. He shook his head. "Asthmatic."

"I know. I read your file." Peggy said. "I need you to hold it." Peter took it, and she pulled folders from under her two arms and opened them. "I need you to be an alternate scout for us. I've looked into you, and I think you would be a great addition to our work. It says here your senior project for university was a resilient, adhesive substance?"

Peter opened his mouth to say he was not interested in spying, but he decided to get to know more. "Yes. It-I nicknamed it 'spider threads'. It reminded me of arachnid webs- Why is this-"

"And you have used it around the city of New York? To...swing around?"

"Y-yes," Peter said. "But I don't use it frequently. Only when there's traffic."

Peggy gave a small smile. "Do you know where you are?"

"A spy meeting?"

"We're not spies, although we are trying to expand our division of field double agents--with _you_." Peggy cleared her throat. "All of us here are part of the SSR. Strategic Scientific Reserve. Our main project now is to replicate the super soldier serum Steve Rogers has in his body. The inventor was assassinated a while back, and we need to regain our advantage to win this war. Howard," Peggy nodded towards the young man drinking with a group of people. "He is working on Steve's genetic composition with his team. And although I know you are a chemist with high marks, I think your anonymity will help us greatly in our espionage division against Hyd-"

"I'm sorry, Miss Carter." Peter interrupted. "This is great and all, but I have to turn it down. I'm busy, and I don't-"

"Did Steve tell you to turn it down?"

Peter gaped. " _Well_ -"

Peggy harrumphed. "It's all right, Peter." Her face was stiff and hardened into a frown. "I'm sure you'll come to your senses soon." She sighed as she closed her folders. "Advice from one marginalised group to another, don't let others strive you away from your greatest potential. We all serve a purpose in this world, social constructs, such as gender or sexuality, be damned."

Peggy Carter took the cigar Peter was loosely holding in his clammy hand and bid him a good night.

 

* * *

 

Monday passed. Tuesday and Wednesday as well. Peter had not heard anything at all from Howard, and he has _searched_.

Every time Stark left to his laboratories downtown, Peter would leave Edward creating his own snacks in the kitchen, and Peter would sneak out to Stark's office to rummage through his drawers for any notes from Howard.

Peter was almost caught during Edward's evening nap on Tuesday. Stark had come home earlier than usual, bearing gifts for Peter--a brand new set of testing tubes and a small bouquet of lilies to freshen up the kitchen after a cake Peter absently burnt the day before as he waited for Howard's arrival. Stark had found Peter leaving his office, and Peter had to give him the lame excuse that Edward had lost a toy, and Peter was looking for it. Stark didn't seem like he believed Peter, but he didn't press Peter for any more details.

Peter sighed deeply as he unlocked the door to the Stark household, noticing that there were no extra cars parked outside. He was starting to think that Howard's friendly attitude was just a momentary buzz of joy and generosity after receiving the metaphorical key to Stark Industries. Howard probably mulled it over the weekend and decided that helping a poor, irritating homosexual from Queens regain some sort of stability was unbelievably unnecessary. Howard could literally snap his fingers and simply crush Peter out of existence like one would a house spider.

 _You're great for Dad--spectacular even_...

Peter shuddered as he set down his bag and went upstairs to find Edward soundlessly sleeping.

Peter smiled softly. It looked like Edward had stayed up late last night for some reason.

"Care to come downstairs?"

Peter whipped around and saw Stark staring at him from the door. Stark was underdressed, a simple, stained shirt, dark grey trousers, and a rag draped around his sweat-shining neck.

"You need a shower," Peter whispered, quietly closing the door to Edward's. "What happened to Edward?"

"Care to come downstairs?" Stark repeated, and Peter rose an eyebrow.

"Your laboratory?"

"That is downstairs, isn't it?" Stark said. "The passcode is nine four eight zero seven. Grab the blueprints next to the big hunk of armour I built and bring them up to my office."

Peter rolled his eyes. "All right, O' Great Mr. Stark."

Peter did as instructed, but he lingered a couple of minutes staring at the automaton-like armour poised in the middle of the laboratory, which was amazingly sleek and well-built.

He arrived at the office and sat down on the chair behind the desk and started gazing at the different designs littered in the blueprints.

The door to the office opened, and Peter started to ramble.

"This is truly amazing, Stark. Completely amazing! It's like a full body shield. _God_ , so innovative, and it will definitely be a world changing design. It-" Peter rose his head to look at Stark, and merely choked on air as he saw Stark buttoning up his shirt and his damp hair amazingly tousled. "- _really_. It's great. It's really great."

Stark smiled. "Really?"

" _Yes_ ," Peter stood up and spread out the sheets on the desk. Stark walked up and peered at the designs as Peter kept talking. "I don't know much about battles. Or war. Or anything other than chemistry really. But this will definitely win the war. Changes the whole idea of guns, tanks, and bombs, doesn't it?"

"This a private project, Peter," Stark said quietly. "Not something I will submit to my military equipment. It's not a weapon. Not in my eyes."

"What is it?"

"Honestly? I'm still figuring it out. An extension of me. Helps me protect those around me." Stark cleared his throat. "It's a hobby I've been tinkering with since I was about your age. Having people I cared about slip from my fingers... Just because I'm limited to my human body."

"I understand," Peter said.

"Your father?" said Stark carefully.

"Both my parents. I was too young to see my mother go," he said. "Or my father. He died before I was even born. But my uncle and aunt...they were my true parents. Ben died in a robbery. Aunt May was walking when this car just... _crashed_. I was there both times. And I couldn't do _anything_."

"I'm sorry."

"No need," Peter gave a smile. "It's comforting. That you made this." Peter looked down at the blueprints. "During university, I heard a lot about going beyond our human capabilities. I even toyed around with it, and- It's amazing, Stark, that I actually get to see how we will get to better the world. You truly are the best inventor of this era."

"Thank you, Peter." Stark said slowly, before shifting in place and using his normal paced tone once again. "How about you tinker with that? The chemical solutions I'm implanting on the offensive and defensive reactions are on page eight. Tell me what you think."

Peter gave him a large smile before flipping the sheets and grabbing a spare pencil from Stark's desk to start circling and underlining everything that he deemed important.

* * *

 

"Peter," Stark spoke up after half an hour into the chemical discussion of Stark's armour. "Have you ever lied to me?"

Peter slowly exhaled as he peered up from the blueprints. _Why_... "Why are you asking?"

Stark shook his head. "Call it paranoia, trust issues... It's been a long time since I've had someone to..." He waved at the sheets between Peter's hands. "I have to make sure you're not a..."

"A what, Stark?" Peter asked, willing his body to not go into full jittering mode. He needed to seem cool, collected, calm. _Just another topic, just another casual discussion_. "A _spy_?" Peter let out a giggle, hoping it seemed like he was cracking a joke.

Stark blinked. "No. I mean, _sure_. Or anything along those lines. I mean I'm pretty sure you wouldn't be here holding a dark grudge against me, would you? You would have choked my kid to death already."

"To- _Stark! I-No!_ "

"It was a _joke_ , Peter," Stark said walking around the desk to place a hand on Peter's shoulder. " _God_." Stark's eyebrows knitted together in concern, as he stared at Peter. Peter must have gotten really pale, for Stark to move that fast. "You really care for Ed, don't you?"

Peter nodded lamely,"He's remarkable."

Stark gave a small smile,"Just like his father?" Stark waggled his eyebrows, and Peter started to laugh.

Stark gave one last grin before it disappeared to make way for a pained look. "Peter, I'm serious. You are...You might seem like an open book, but I barely know you. I've thought of you a lot these past few days, and I want to trust you."

Peter felt his face go red. _Lord, why is he using those words?_ "Ask me anything," he said, his voice almost a whisper. Peter was facing practically the end of his nanny career, but he needed this. He needed to relieve some of the stress the secrecy has created. "I have _never_ lied to you, and I will not lie to you now."

Stark stared at him for a few minutes before taking the sheets away from Peter and stepping back to cross his arms. He cleared his throat. "Why were you at the Jones' estate when we first met? I know you aren't a cook."

Peter's breath hitched. _Damn. He didn't waste a second_. "I'm a journalist. For the Scholar's Daily. I write for the science section."

"See that... That makes sense." Stark muttered. Peter tilted his head, and Stark continued. "You having a chemical engineering degree and cooking in a gala. You have more purpose than... Whatever. What was your purpose there as a journalist?"

"Write an article on people attending the event," Peter said smoothly. "It's due in a week."

"On who? On me?"

"No," Peter blurted out. _Oh God, there goes that no-lying promise._ "On Steven Rogers. I'm writing on the science behind his serum."

Stark hummed. "Really?"

Peter nodded. "Th-That's why I spent most of the gala with him."

Stark frowned. "How do you know that super soldier kid? I can tell you didn't meet him that night. You two are close."

Peter gaped. "W-Wha-I-"

"Have something to hide?" Stark glared.

" _Yes_!" Peter blurted out. "I mean. I-I-I know him through a--We have mutual friends--We have-we meet-"

" _Peter_." Stark took a step closer. "Do you know him through work?"

Peter quickly shook his head. "Oh no, Steve can't write a good article to save his li-"

"Through _his_ work."

Peter frowned in confusion. _What does he mean? Steve works as a public figure to sell bonds...for the Army. Oh God_. "I'm not a spy, Stark." _As a matter of fact, I turned that down_. "I'm not working for the U.S. Army."

Stark shrugged. "Then it shouldn't be a difficult question, Peter. _Where_ did you two meet?"

"Why is that essential to know?"

" _Peter_ ," Stark said walking even closer to him. Peter's breath hitched as Stark tilted Peter's chin to look up at him. "Tell me. _Please_."

Peter opened his mouth once, twice, without saying a word, before saying words he would never regain. "I like men. My best friend, she likes women. She introduced me to a place wh-where she meets up with people who like to sketch just like her. Steve sketches. Steve-uh-likes both. Men. _And_ women. But we haven't. We aren't. Bucky--I mean Harry--I-- _uh_. We're friends. W-We are _friends_. Steve and I are friends."

Stark didn't move a muscle or blink. Peter felt like fainting, but Stark cleared his throat before Peter could roll his eyes and drop to the floor. "So you met at a sketching club?"

"A homosexual club," Peter said. "My friend and Steve just liked to sketch together. I have no idea why I mentioned that," he let out a nervous laugh. "This questioning is nerve-wracking. I have no idea why I agreed to this."

"Tell me about it," Stark scoffed. "You sound as if you replaced your mouth for your train of thoughts."

Peter frowned, clearly insulted. He crossed his arms. "Do you trust me now? Can I get a glass of water? I feel faint."

Stark let out a laugh, and Peter stared. Making Stark genuinely laugh was always a delight to see, even though Peter was still offended.

Stark moved to his drinking cabinet and poured a glass of chilled water and gave it to Peter, who drank from it as if the water would help him disappear from the embarrassing scene.

Peter laid the glass down and watched as Stark relaxed against the wall. He tried to mimic the same attitude and hopped on Stark's desk, propping a leg up to rest his head on it and wrapped his arms around it.

"You're not disgusted by my sexuality?" Peter said.

Stark shrugged. "Nothing to be disgusted by. Besides, I already knew."

" _What_?"

"You're an open book, Peter. I notice how you look at me."

Peter had never been so red in his life before. "Can I get another glass of water?"

"Don't be ashamed, Peter," Stark grinned as he grabbed the glass and filled it again. "It's cute. It makes me feel desirable. Wanted."

"Well, I'm glad my crush helps you build your momentum," Peter snapped.

Stark gave him the glass, and Peter took a sip before placing it down. Stark was much more closer than before. "It's mutual, Peter."

Peter blanched and took the glass again to gulp some more water down. _Mutual. It's mutual_. He felt like hyperventilating, fainting, screaming, laughing, pulling Stark closer and wrapping his legs around him and-

"I hired you because I thought you were a spy." Stark said, and Peter blinked. Weren't they talking about a mutual romantic interest, or did Peter imagine everything? Peter breathed in as he realised why Stark was stereing the conversation that way. _Stark is reciprocating the confessing. He's telling me a painful secret, too_. "I thought it was a strategic move on my part. Peggy Carter wanted me to invest time on that super soldier friend of yours. Recreate the formula in him, but I said no. She instead settled for Howard's help. That's why I hired you that night. I was drunk and...I thought having you around the house might...I don't know...anger Howard. Make him come to the house more often to inform you of what was happening back in the Army's labs."

"But he never did," Peter said as Stark moved closer to him. "Because I wasn't a spy or part of their team."

Stark nodded. "It was a silly plan of a wasted, lonely father."

Peter scoffed. "And here I thought you actually hired me because of my cooking. Edward never had a nanny, did he? It's just you."

" _Barely_. Ed spent his days alone around the house while I worked downstairs. Pepper would come in the mornings and bring him meals for the day." Stark said. "Hiring you to piss off Howard was a gift in itself. You're an _amazing_ caretaker, and I wasn't exactly there for Howard's childhood, so I had no idea how to take care of Edward. I was, and I'm _still_ , too proud to ask Pepper. If I did, she would take him away, even though he's not her son."

Peter gaped.

"Yeah," Stark cleared his throat. "Howard's ours. Ed... He's from an affair with a redheaded assistant I had a few years ago. It was the last straw for Pep. Pretending to be bedridden and pregnant for nine months wasn't exactly our golden time."

"She's been with James Rhodes ever since?"

Stark shrugged. "I have no idea when it started, but yes, she moved in with him after the faux pregnancy." He sighed and walked to his drinking cabinet and served himself red wine. "She would go to him for comfort when I would leave for business or for...sexual affairs. Something must have sparked for them during that time. When I...When I finally come to my senses and realise that she is...amazing and perfect and _I-_ " Peter looked away. It was uncomfortable to see Stark so-- "She was already so detached. I have...I remember that first night after spending so many years apart. She was so... _desperate_ to conceive. I should have seen it coming, but I was _so thrilled_ that she wanted me back."

Stark scoffed. "Six months later, she has a son. He was healthy, not premature. A few days later she and the babe disappeared. I couldn't find her until a week passed. She came home with James, and they sat me down as if I was a kid who couldn't understand what was happening in front of me."

Peter felt the narrative was... _missing_ something, but he let it pass for now. "That... The stillborns. All those news of the stillborns you both had." Peter said, and Stark nodded.

_Hopefully it won't be another damned stillborn. Right, Virginia?_

"Jack, Theo, and now Madeleine." Stark chuckled sadly. "Pep always wanted a girl."

"She...gave birth?" Peter asked.

Stark nodded, drinking all of his wine in one gulp. "Three days ago. James called last night." Stark sighed harshly as he rubbed his face. "Am I fucked up, Peter?"

"Yes."

Stark snorted. "Thank you."

"But you're striving to be better, and that's what matters. At least to me-"

Stark set his empty glass on the desk and yanked Peter's propped leg towards him and lowered it. Peter gasped in surprise as Stark pulled him closer to the edge of the desk to nestle himself between Peter's legs.

"You're not at all what I expected when I hired you," Stark said quietly.

Peter looked down at Stark's neck to avoid his piercing gaze and started playing with Stark's loose black tie. "I must have been a disappointing pawn for your plan."

Stark chuckled and took both of Peter's hands and kissed both of his palms. "You were." Peter frowned and glared. "A disappointing pawn I mean. Howard didn't come by at all, only once. And it was because of Rhodey. But as a nanny? As a _companion_? You were _far_ from disappointing."

"What else?" Peter murmured, his stomach doing numerous flips. "What else am I?"

"You are very bothersome."

Peter looked up to pout and saw that Stark was staring below his nose, yet not beyond his chin. _Lord, he's staring at my mouth. Oh Lord, oh Lord_ \- Peter's mouth slightly opened--whether to warn or to encourage Stark to let himself go...Peter had not yet decided.

His small movement incited Stark to shift slightly closer. _Oh God_. Peter could feel the tilt of Stark's head, the radiating warmth, the energy zapping onto his own nerves. _Oh God_. The bristles of Stark's unkempt beard making the most diminutive rake against Peter's chin.

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

"If this is unwanted," Stark spoke up, his goatee brushing against Peter's lips. "Feel free to leave me."

Peter felt an unhealthy rush of emotions, one side of him wanting to inexplicably punch his boss square in the jaw and the other side wanting to weep into Stark's shoulder," _Stark_ \--"

"Tony."

" _Tony_ ," Peter's voice cracked. God. The last thing he wanted was to scare St-Tony away from him. "Ever since I first saw you, I never ever wanted to leave you."

" _Peter_ ," Tony said in a strange voice. Peter opened his eyes--which he had unconsciously closed--and almost cried out in surprise. Tony's dark eyes were glassy, bloodshot, and _open_. "Ever since I laid eyes on you, I knew I couldn't let you drift away from me." Peter felt a thumb rub his neck, Tony's head lowered, following his rough finger's path, creating yet another light yet brittle path across Peter's body. "You have no idea how much I yearned to hear you say you want to stay. No idea how much I desire you," Tony spoke against the hollow on his neck before firmly biting the soft skin.

Peter couldn't contain it. His breath came in rapid, small moans slowly rising into a crescendo. Tony's other hand cupped Peter's cheek, his thumb quickly swiping against Peter's mouth as if to remind him where they were. The hand quickly moved downwards to grab Peter's upper thigh and hoist him up. Out of habit, Peter composed himself and wrapped his legs around Tony, who made a deep, pleased hum.

Tony's first hand was already making a path down his back, momentarily stopping to firmly press him against Tony's torso, making Peter let out a breathless gasp. Tony groaned in response, making his way back to Peter's mouth to finally kiss--

" _Dad! Are you home_?"

If it wasn't for Peter's fast reflexes, Tony would have dropped him on the hard floor, for his hands had immediately let go of Peter and quickly moved to his head to rake back his tussled hair.

"In my office, Howard!" Tony called out as if he wasn't about to vigorously mount his youngest son's nanny.

Peter willed his breathing to calm before Howard arrived, but he heard the other's footsteps coming near, so he dashed to the office's window and opened it to make his situation seem less obvious.

Behind him, the door opened.

"Dad, Doctor Weber--Hello Peter."

Peter took in a deep breath. God, he must be pink all over. Tony's beard would have definitely made marks. His hand reached up to touch the area of his Adam's apple. _God_. Peter bit back a slow hiss before speaking. "Hi. Howard."

"You okay?" Howard's voice was getting closer.

Peter's fingers were white against the windowsill. _Don't come closer. Oh God-_

"Leave him, Howard," Tony snapped. "He just had an asthma attack. I was smoking here, and I forgot to tell him. He's just catching his breath."

Howard scoffed. "Typical Anthony Stark."

Tony hummed. "He shouldn't have come in here in the first place." Tony said coldly. Peter shivered. If it wasn't for the physical evidence demonstrating Tony's desire temporarily etched on his neck, Peter would have thought that Tony was as cruel as he sounded.

" _You_  hired _him_ ," Howard said, stepping further away from Peter. Most likely towards his father's desk to defend Peter.

Tony sighed, clearly annoyed by Howard's tone. "What were you saying about Heinrich?"

Peter glanced back to see Howard glaring at his father, and he quickly slipped behind him to leave.

"Heinrich Weber was found dead," Howard said as he started to close the door behind Peter. "We're sending you to attend his funeral in Berlin and carry out your mission there instead."

Peter froze.

_No._

He glanced back to see what Tony's response would be, but Howard had closed the door. Peter rose his hand to open it, but the door's lock made a resounding click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to let you guys know that I really enjoy writing this, but work will *really* take much of my time these following weeks, so I don't have a set date for the next chapter, but hopefully it's soon.  
> [[Btw, how about that Infinity War trailer? Yikes. I'm dreading 'destiny' to be honest.]]  
> Thank you so much for reading!!


	5. Drafts & Speeches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's unwillingness to write Tony Stark's downfall is beginning to take a toll on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sooooo much for kudos and comments!! I appreciate them so much!
> 
> To be honest I envisioned finishing this...months ago, but I didn't. Oh well.
> 
> For now, I'm setting a new goal, hopefully I can actually accomplish it this time. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Mild violence and homophobia

_Stark equips an entirely different mask for the public when it comes to showcasing the latest inventions of his company. Similarly he-_

"Pete, aren't you going to eat dinner?" MJ said softly, tapping the wood of their bedroom door.

Peter leaned away from his typewriter and tilted his head backwards to face his best friend.

Surprisingly, for the evening, she was wearing the best outfit she owned, a two-toned pink halter dress. As soon as they both made eye contact with each other, she motioned to the kitchen area behind her. "Liz is here."

Peter made a vague effort to remember the evening's occasion, but gave up a few seconds later as the five lines of his draft burnt up in his mind. He had to focus. "M'not hungry," Peter muttered, hunching back to his original position, his fingers tapping the typewriter's keys once again.

- _embellishes a confident-_

"If this is about Flash, don't break a sweat." MJ said. "He went out with Ned for a smoke, so it's just us. No need to hold your words during dinner."

Peter shook his head. "I'm busy."

- _yet troubled-_

 _No. Tone down the accusations_. Peter let out a yelp of frustration and yanked the paper off the typewriter, crushing it between his hands.

Behind him, MJ closed the door and stepped closer. "Take a break-"

"No, Michelle." Peter snapped, his body stiffening at the thought of taking one slight breather. "This paper needs to be finished by Friday, and it's going to be Monday any minute now." The bomb was ticking for everyone, and Peter alone was the only one that could properly diffuse it. He had no doubt that St-Antho- _Tony_ was bound to leave for Germany any day now. If Howard truly left him hanging off this cliff, Peter had no choice but to write a paper that pleased both parties involved.

Peter replaced the typewriter's sheet and began to type again.

_When in public, Stark equips a mask-_

MJ let out a heavy, defeated sigh behind him. "He's fucking you."

Peter stopped typing to process her accusation. "Miche-What are you-"

In an instance, Peter was violently swerved around in his stool, the scarf around his neck being roughly yanked away by a very dissatisfied-looking Michelle.

Damn it.

Michelle Jones was dangerously perceptive. As Ned once said to Peter, MJ could "judge" him for something he was doing--days before he actually did it.

"You lied to me. _Again_." MJ said, her voice wavering. "Anthony Stark is another Harry." She sighed deeply and sat on her bed, not breaking her steely, accusing gaze. "You know he can have you floating in the East River tomorrow morning if you _breathe_ wrong. Do you know what you're getting yourself into?"

"He's not like that," Peter spoke up, his voice lacking confidence. "And we're not sleeping. We haven't done anything worth the state felony. At all."

" _Yet_."

"MJ-"

"Hello, Liz!" Ned's voice drifted from outside their bedroom. "Eating dinner with us tonight?

Peter and MJ silently glared at each other as Liz and their two flatmates began a lively conversation outside their bedroom, Peter rolling his eyes at the sound of Flash's voice.

After a few minutes, MJ broke their simmering silence. "Let's go eat dinner and we'll discuss this afterwards," she proposed.

"I'm not hungry."

"You just don't want to see Flash."

"For a good reason." Peter hissed. "He calls me a 'pretty fruit'. And in the morning, he bows at me and calls me Miss Parker. And I've heard him refer to me as a fag to Ned. _Twice_."

"And he calls me Sappho even though- Okay, okay. Peter, at least he doesn't blab about us to people. It's exhausting, I know. But _please_ , Liz is here, and you _know_ I need to impress her. Let's go eat dinner."

"Tony doesn't call me names," he continued. Peter didn't know what he was trying to prove at this point, but, frankly, he just wanted to prove Tony was good for him despite all the man's demons. "He doesn't expect anything from me other than myself. He's not another Harry. He doesn't demand me to gasp a certain way or wear a damned wig. He doesn't turn me around and calls me a name that doesn't belong to either me or his wife. Tony desires _me_. Tony asks me for permission. He- He's not another Harry, Michelle. Tony's amazing to me."

MJ stared at him. "Tony," she repeated.

Peter made a face. "He-Mr. Stark-"

"Oh shut up. You haven't even, Mama above pardon my language, seen his cock, Pete. Let alone... God. How do you know he won't ask for all of that and worse?"

"Michelle." Peter snapped. "He wants me. And you've said it yourself. He has the power and money to reduce me to nothing. But he hasn't. St-Tony's different."

"Don't you wonder why?" She raised her voice. "Maybe he's, I don't know, _using you_?"

" _No_ ," Peter barked.

MJ groaned and rapidly stood up and turned around, her voice nasal, as she pinched her nose in frustration, processing Peter's defence. "You got all of this...from him gnawing at your neck?"

Peter cleared his throat, mulling it over before answering. "I got all of this from his gaze. His words, his honesty-"

MJ sighed deeply, clearly exhausted with the direction their dispute has taken. "Whatever. We'll speak later."

Peter watched as she slammed the door to their bedroom shut, and he finally relaxed against the edge of his desk. He listened to her retreating footsteps and then, to her too-enthusiastic greetings towards Ned and Flash. Peter sighed and stared blankly at his draft, as Ned spoke up about his job at the port and the rest of them burst out laughing in response.

Peter put away the poorly written paper, stopping for a few seconds to hear Flash clear his throat and make his voice pathetically, sickly sweet: "Where's Miss Parker?"

"He's resting." MJ smoothly answered. At least, Peter can always confide in MJ to create an excuse for him at any given moment, even if they are not in the best terms. "He spends most of the week taking care of a hyperactive toddler, so he's really exhausted by this time of the night."

Peter sighed and climbed onto his bed, hearing Flash lowly say something and Ned giggling while Liz and MJ scoffed and disagreed.

_"You're not disgusted by my sexuality?" Peter said._

_Stark shrugged. "Nothing to be disgusted by."_

Peter sighed and wrapped his bed sheet around himself, burying his nose into MJ's peach-scented blanket.

Stark was different, but he had no idea how to explain it to MJ...or if she could ever hear him out. Peter knew she genuinely meant well. Michelle was worried for him, and she had the right to--more than anyone else.

When she expressed her thoughts on the matter, she spoke from past experience.

MJ never did work in the deli with Steve and him. She never even got to formally meet Harry, but she knew all about the relationship's effects on Peter.

When Harry had came into their lives, both Peter and MJ were going through financial hell. Peter had just witnessed his aunt's death, and if it wasn't for MJ, he would have stayed curled up into a ball in May's bed until he was evicted from the home. Michelle, on the other hand, was finding it hard to cope with her brother's 'disappearance'. Coming to terms with the harsh truth that she would never get to hear, she reached out to Peter, and they decided to ultimately move in together into her brother's one bedroom apartment.

MJ quickly took multiple jobs to keep up with the rent, but Peter took a longer while to battle down his grief. With the bills piling up, MJ convinced Ned and Flash, who were employed, to squeeze into the apartment with them. After that, it only took one 'Princess Parker' insult from the latter to make Peter crawl out of his makeshift hole and literally swing around the borough for a part-time job.

Peter buried his grin into his blanket at the memory of his early days at the deli.

He would be lying if he didn't say that the summer at the deli were the golden days. The Giordanos, the family that owned the Brooklyn deli, were very accepting--or at least they tried to be. The environment was positive for once, and Peter spent all his day smiling and laughing and practicing his Italian with Ms. Giordano.

All of a sudden, all Peter could think about was Steve Rogers' stern face at the SSR meeting last Saturday.

Peter sighed, covering his eyes with the crook of his arm.  
Steve had had a point. If it wasn't for Harry, Peter wouldn't have joined the Giordanos in the first place.

Now everything seemingly "romantic" that happened with Harry felt unbearably stupid. How Harry Osborn had carelessly strolled into the shop to pick up his lunch as Peter had a short chat with Steve. How he had roved his eyes across Peter's body perched on the counter, smirking at him without giving a damn over who saw their exchange.

Peter was immediately, stupidly, smitten afterwards. He almost went to the brink of insanity, equipping his cum laude-worthy webs and swinging downtown every evening just to see the man.

Immediately after his first kiss with the man, (that at the moment had stupidly felt like an exchange between halves of the same soul), Peter had practically begged Ms. Giordano for a job. He couldn't bear lose sight of the only thing that gave his life a spark after the deaths of his loved ones. Once Ms. Giordano gave in and took him under her wing, the rest was history.

Or at least, that's when all the dominoes began to continuously fall, bringing Peter to his current situation. Infatuated with a troubled billionaire, in the mercy of a homophobic asshole, charmed by a homewrecking toddler, and being constantly offered to spy for the United States of Am-

Peter stilled.

 _Of course_.

He tuned in to the never-ending patter of freezing rain outside the small window and the lively chatter going on outside the bedroom.

_How hadn't I connect this before? Where was my head all week long?_

How ironic. Here he was, trying to stop his nothing-but-trouble spying, when, in the end, the solution to it all, was even more high scaled espionage.

It shouldn't have taken this long for Peter to put the pieces together, but he was too busy trying to keep his life and loved ones at peace and intact.

His community was at the brink of being exposed. Not to mention that he couldn't even move from his apartment, unless he wanted to leave his three roommates vagabonding around Queens.

Professionally, his old friend Steve was obviously against Peter getting involved in military affairs, for Steve's own protective, sacrificial reasons, and-

 _Tony_.

Tony had hired Peter for his own selfish reasons. He had believed that Peter was a manipulative bastard himself. An eager bastard working for the Army, trying to convince Tony to continue investing time on tactics and inventions he had acquired and created during his experience in the Great War.

After getting--somewhat--romantically involved, and reassuring Tony that he was, in no way, associated with his son, there was no way Peter could ever break that trust and make it a reality... right?

 _I have to_ , Peter groaned, burying his face into his pillow.  _And I have to explain it to Tony. Let him know it's not a betrayal. Just a...temporary service to cover up a...betrayal. Okay. Great. Fucking great. Just great._

Peter snuggled to his side, facing MJ's empty bed and their creaky, ancient, working table.

_I have to find a way. I have to find a way to keep Tony, to achieve Allied victory, and to keep the club safe and underground. I have to make it work. I have to, I have to,_

_I have to,_

_I have to..._

The door to the bedroom creaked open, shattering the mantra.  
Peter blinked. How much time has passed?

"You awake, Pete?" MJ asked softly.

Peter contemplated feigning sleep out of spite, but he yawned unintentionally, and sat up.

The apartment was quiet. Behind MJ, the hallway was pitch black.  
"What'd I miss?"

"Quite a lot, to be honest," Michelle said, sitting down next to Peter, who took advantage of her proximity to lay his head on her lap. She sighed in annoyance, but she begrudgingly started to weave her sleek fingers through his hair. "Liz had a lot to say to you. And I had news to tell all of you."

"Which are...?"

"I'm finally moving."

"What? You're kidding," Peter guffawed and frowned at the lack of MJ's laugh-induced jolts. "Michelle?"

"My jobs are nice, Peter," she said calmly, as if she had been rehearsing the speech for quite some time. "They all pay well, and Liz has a sturdy flat in Harlem. A lot of women are doing the same thing nowadays, Pete. Moving in together to go to work and afford rent, since their husbands are starting to turn up MIA."

"So you're leaving." Peter muttered and MJ hummed. "Is this...? Are you and Liz-"

"No," MJ said quickly, immediately understanding what Peter was asking. The fingers in his hair stopped their course for a moment before continuing at a faster pace. "She doesn't know about me. Neither of us. It was pretty funny out there. She thought you and I were together. But, at the same time, Flash was making lewd comments about you all through dinner. She thought I was offended and all, but... No. She doesn't." MJ sighed, exhausted, her fingers trembling slightly against Peter's scalp. "When I live with her, I'll have to tone down a lot, you know?"

Peter scoffed. "Hmm. At least, it's good to know that people still perceive us as lovebirds. An odd couple living in cold, grey Queens."

"Who strangely lets two Asian fishmongers stay the night...every single night," MJ added.

Peter snorted loudly.

"Peter," Michelle took a moment to dig out her hands from his head to lean back before continuing. "Will you be all right? It won't be a problem, right?"

"Of course not, MJ," Peter sat up, immediately sensing her uneasiness. "I'm not upset. I'm glad for you. You hate Queens. Go ahead. I'm-"

"Oh, Pete," MJ gave him a quick, immensely tight hug before leaning back again. "Thank you so much. God, Pete, if you're ever struggling," MJ placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Don't ever be afraid to reach out. _Ever_. Even to those who don't seem likely to be your ally in the very first place."

Peter gave her a smile. "Will do."

Michelle snorted as she stood up to walk across the diminutive room to her bed. "You're in a lot of tight spots lately, and I know opportunities don't fall from the sk-"

"Okay, MJ-" Peter began, sensing her earlier combative tone making a swift return.

"And some traps are disguised as opportunities-"

"M. J." Peter warned.

"Pe. Ter. Why would a rising engineer want you? Young, poor, naive, _male_ , moony Peter Parker to come early in the morning, make his kid brush his teeth, cook him some Italian-based dish, and skip around the house whilst he sits a desk away watching everything? Waiting for the perfect time to pounce and maul you open?"

 _God_ , this was getting ridiculous. She didn't understand the nature of their relationship, and she definitely didn't know about Tony's intentions towards hiring him. She was getting the wrong idea. "Michelle-"

"Just hear me out, Pete," MJ said. "You told me he's deeply in love with his wife, _but_ he necked you. That tells me either two things. Mrs. Stark has taken a vow of chastity and Anthony Stark decided to scratch his itch against you. Or, he's one of those sex addicts that wants to experiment to hell and back. _And_ he decided to scratch _that_ itch against you. Neither are good, Pete."

"You don't kn-"

"Know him. Yes." MJ said. "I don't know him, but I know deception. And I see it loud and-"

Peter laid back and covered his face with the blanket. He didn't want to hear it. Michelle's insinuations were, unfortunately, making his stomach churn. "Stop, Michelle. Please."

Michelle sighed against her bed, knowing that there was nothing she could say to him for the night. Peter peeked at her in the dark and gave her a tired "thank you".

She turned on her side to gaze at Peter. "Oh, I, uh, almost forgot. Liz said her father's boss wants you at the office first thing in the morning."

Peter stilled. _God_. "Hammer wants to see me.

"Apparently. Some. Sort of check-up," Michelle mumbled, her words already jumbling together. She yawned loudly before turning on her other side, giving him her back. "Good night, Petey."

"Good...night. Sure."

Just a check-up. Just a...check-up.

 

* * *

 

"I've been invited to tomorrow night's special event, Stark's son inauguration as CEO of the company," Hammer drawled as Peter squirmed in his seat across his boss' desk. Hammer's rolling chair was facing the large windows, the morning sun casting warm colours into the room. The red aura around Hammer's golden hair was giving the moment an appropriate and sinister display. Now with his slowly-progressing intimate affair, Peter felt like he was working for the actual Devil. "Can you please explain why didn't I learn this from my itty bitty spy?"

 _Hammer was invited? What the fuck Howard_. Peter shrugged stiffly. "It must have been a last minute deci-"

"But you didn't see it coming?" Hammer interrupted. "Toomes tells me all the time that you're the cleverest columnist in his division, so it shouldn't had taken you this long to put the pieces together."

 _Apparently it does when I haven't slept a full night in days_. Peter crossed his arms. "I'm flattered, but I thought you said perfect, brilliant journalist George was far more superior than me in writing."

"No one's a good employee when they're dead." Hammer turned around to face him, and Peter felt his blood rush to his head. "Spending all your time in rotten Manhattan has thrown you off a loop, hasn't it? George got blown to bits somewhere in Poland. His missus came by to collect his junk last Friday."

Peter felt physically ill. All the playful rivalry they had when Peter started working for the newspaper, the pranks they did to each other's coffees, the Friday dinners he and MJ attended before George enlisted and disappeared... forever in the past now. His coworker wasn't coming back. Another fallen soldier. "I-I didn't know."

"Oh well, that's war for you," Hammer muttered. "If it was up to me, I would rather have him than you, but alas. Here we are." The man leaned forwards and stood up in a swift motion. "All right, enough crap. Let me see what you have so far."

Peter felt numb. "I didn't bring my draft."

Hammer made a disapproving sound. "Then, what have you found out, Parker? Don't tease me, boy. Tell me your _story_. What's Stark up to? Tell me _details._  Actions. _Patterns_."

"I can't. I really can't, Mr. Hammer. I can't make any deductions as of yet. I haven't even examined his files in his labo-"

Peter let out a yelp as cold, bony fingers squeezed the nape of his head and pressed him against the surface of the desk, immediately trapping his airflow from coming in.

"If that goddamned paper isn't here by Friday morning, I will personally set ablaze your Oscar haven." Hammer snarled and tightened his fingers. "Do not play games with me, Parker. I am not one of your faggots." Peter cringed as he felt Hammer's hot breath against his neck. "Do not protect him. Do not protect his deformed, barren whore. Do not protect his fucking brats. And do not. _Tease_ me. You're an abomination, Parker. Either you write for me, or I'll choke you to death and stuff you down a chute, better than all those Oscar cocks will ever do for you. Understand?"

Peter wheezed in pain, nodding furiously. Hammer's hand was instantly gone, wiping itself against a conjured handkerchief.

Peter kept his stare down, afraid to even ask if he could leave yet. He blinked to make his eyesight stop spinning, but all it did was drop fat teardrops to his grey slacks.

"Now...What are you going to write about?"

"He's going to a German funeral." Peter croaked, massaging his neck. "Stark's going to Germany."

"Good enough. I'll send Toomes' brat to bring you some...spark to add spice to that. Well, I expect to see you here Friday dawn, Parker," Hammer announced, lighting a match as he sat down on his chair, wheeling it to face the window. "I want to personally be there when that fucker's life is finally ruined."

 

* * *

 

As soon as Peter closed the entrance behind him, he jumped in fright, as he heard the loud echo of Tony's voice coming from within the enormous home.

"You're late."

Peter furiously and quickly wiped off the frozen tear tracks on his face. "It's nine. Aren't you supposed to be at your laboratory?" Peter called back, as he hanged his coat. "Eddie, I'm here! Ed?"

Peter stiffened at the house's eerie silence and lack of high-pitched giggles as Tony replied loudly, in an unintelligible, chanting manner. He frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry, what was that?" Peter called out.

Tony repeated the same tangle of syllables before appearing at the top of the entrance's double staircase. "I said, in German, Why should I waste a perfectly good basement laboratory? And, that Pepper took Edward for the day. Don't you speak German, Pete?"

Peter attempted to ignore how Pepper's name rolled so tenderly off Tony's tongue, but Peter's tone, unintentionally (but not quite), turned monotone. "It wasn't in the job description," he deadpanned, and Tony barked in laughter. "Ed's not here. Should I leave?"

Peter didn't know if his insomnia was playing tricks on him, but he swore Tony's eyes twinkled as he descended the stairs. "Definitely not. We have matters to discuss."

Peter pinched his wrists behind his back as soon as his mind instantly remembered the unforgettable ache and the undeniable pleasure caused by Tony's teeth sinking into his neck. Despite the pleasant memory, he flinched as his neck ached, bringing back the echo of Hammer's warning. Peter harrumphed. "Do we?"

" _Ja_ ," Tony grinned, clapping his hands together. "Yes. You are now speaking to a fully retired engineer. My son has officially inherited my box of scraps of a company."

"Oh," Peter said, feigning surprise. "I thought you said you were going to appoint Pepper-"

"Congratulations, kid. You persuaded me. Metaphorically, you've convinced me to burn down the Industries," Tony interrupted as he came closer. He stopped a few inches away. "From the moment we met--What the hell?"

In an instant, Tony's hands softly cupped Peter's throbbing neck. Peter tried to keep a neutral face, but the tears stared falling again. "I got attacked."

Tony started to haul him into the kitchen. "Did they steal anything?"

Peter shook his head as he sat him down on a stool. "I just...not much. Three dollars. A sandwich I bought," he lied smoothly.

Tony applied some cold salve to Hammer's fingerprints imprinted on his neck, making Peter hiss at the temperature. "Here," Tony said, flicking through his wallet to bring out a fifty dollar and presenting it to Peter. He gaped, forgetting immediately of his neck pain.

"Tony, I can't-"

"You can. Do you remember how the assaulters looked like?"

"Tony-"

"Parker, description. _Now_."

"I don't remember. It was fast."

"You're lying." Tony snapped, lifting Peter's chin up softly. "Tell me."

"Stop. I don't need saving. Not now. Please."

Tony scoffed in irritation, but he stepped back, crossing his arms defensively. "If you _remember-"_

"I'll tell you." Peter assured, lightly touching the salve in his neck in wonder. If he wasn't imagining things, the ache was apparently dissipating.

Tony sighed deeply. "As I was saying...earlier. Come with me to Howard's inauguration party tomorrow. I'm giving my first speech in ages and," Tony cupped his cheek. "I need to see a friendly face."

Peter rose his own hand to slap Tony's away out of playfulness, but decided against it at the last moment. Would it be appropriate? Would Stark deem it humorous? Or childish? Michelle's words from last night were suddenly echoing in his head. He grabbed the hand stroking his jaw and lowered it. "What are we?" Peter asked, his voice sounding harsher than intended.

Tony's expression hardened,"First and furthermost, I am your boss and you are my employee. Never forget that, kid."

Peter frowned, ready to turn around, but Tony slipped his arms around Peter's waist, pulling him close to no avail. Peter set his feet firmly on the floor, and Tony, noticing he had lost his charismatic momentum, sighed and let him go.

The two of them stared at each other in a steely standoff. Peter could never figure out why Tony insisted on keeping such a cold stance towards him despite everything happening between them. Was it because their relationship is nestled on such a sensitive foundation, or was it something deeper? Michelle was right. It was a fucking itch he needed to scratch. Tony was using-

Stark broke the silence.

"I'm married, Peter. By law, there are three other people I must prioritise before you. And do not forget, that also by law, this. This affair you want to pursue-"

"You as well," Peter spoke up. "Affairs aren't one-sided."

Tony nodded stiffly. "Our affair, kid. A same-sex affair, it's not a pleasant one to have."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Excellent, Stark. What's your next deduction? What's happening in Europe isn't _pleasant_?"

Tony let out a groan of frustration and launched himself forward to yank Peter towards him. Peter tried to evade him, but Tony managed to wrap his arms around Peter and press his chest against his back to limit Peter's brash scuffles. "Kid, Peter. Peter. Listen to me. Hear me out."

"I'm not a toy," he snarled.

"Kid, I _never_ said that."

"You're implying it!"

"Pete, goddamn it! Hear me out. Stop putting," Tony said, picking up Peter in a swift motion making him shriek in surprise. "Words in my fucking mouth. Where on God's earth do you even come up with these conclusions?"

Peter groaned. "I make deductions for a living. To-Put me down."

Tony set him down, but quickly place his hands on the kitchen counter on either side of Peter, not giving him yet another chance to escape. "Hey, kid." Peter looked up, seeing the vulnerable side of Tony burning through his eyes. "I need you. I'm married. I have kids, and by nature, they should all make me feel complete, but they don't. And for some reason, you're the closest thing to the real thing. You're... Here. And I need you, there. Tomorrow."

Peter bit his lip, not buying his ruse for a minute. "Pepper will be there, won't she?"

Tony flinched. "Yes, but that's not-"

Peter rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Okay. Whatever. Any other news you want to...talk about?"

Tony shrugged, tucking Peter's hair behind his ear. "Not really."

Peter started to fume, but Tony was clearly oblivious to his irritation. "No travel plans? Visiting family members? Language tutors coming over for next week? Anything I should know?"

"Nope," Tony said, turning away snorting amusedly. "Not going to lie, but you're a bit off today, kid. Come on. Relax in the lab for a while. You look like you need some rest."

 

* * *

 

Peter tried to ignore Michelle's glare as he slipped into his only good suit for tonight's party.

He had arrived early in the morning after falling asleep all afternoon and then, overnight on the sofa in Tony's basement, trying to restore the energy he had lost. Tony had left him undisturbed, leaving a pitcher of water and some fruits for when he finally woke up. He did, almost fifteen hours later, with Edward's small, sleeping figure jabbing at his ribs. Peter had eaten, quite ravenously, carried Edward to bed, and slipped away at dawn from the Stark home, without saying a single farewell to Tony.

Peter straightened the tie and gave Michelle a weak smile. She glowered in reply. He didn't even bother telling her the truth. She was going to believe he and Tony rolled in bed all day yesterday until the very day she passes away. And...Peter smirked to himself; he didn't feel like proving her wrong anyway.

Peter quickly left as soon as thesun set, and took his usual route to Manhattan, only making a quick detour, to arrive at the high-rise settled luminously by the Hudson bank.

At last, Peter finally stepped into the elegantly decorated studio, and gawked at the gorgeously dressed guests, feeling immediately out of place. At least, this time, they were all young and lively; Peter would have no problem with catching any unwanted attention.

He moved around the room, seeing no one familiar, as expected, and made his way to a quieter space, where he immediately sprung to life at the sound of Tony's charming voice.

He laid against the wall, next to a giggling couple who paid him no attention, and listened to the conversation Tony was having a few feet away with a vulture-looking pair of spouses.

"Anthony, I'm deeply sorry for your family," the gangly man drawled out. "The Lord knows you and Virginia deserve better than this."

"Thank you, Nicholas," Tony said softly. "Pep and I actually held the little one for a while this time. She was a girl."

"Virginia always wanted one," the woman lamented, her grasp on her husband tighter than before. "That poor darling. Oh, Anthony, do watch over her. I have no idea how she hasn't gone mad."

"Mary-"

"I'm just observing, Nick. Virginia's glowing tonight. It's unnatural for a woman to be so-"

"Because we're here for our son," Tony interrupted, quite harshly.

The woman eyed him cautiously, but Tony just sniffed at her. Peter wondered how many times Tony has heard the same accusation towards Pepper. They both may have excellent resources and an extraordinary set of skills to secretly integrating Pepper and James Rhodes' children into society, but they were clearly lacking the proper execution to portray mourning parents.

"Yes," the man Nicholas said slowly. "That is understandable, but you should have, at least, let your woman grieve in private for a couple of weeks. One of these days, Anthony, she will-"

"Pepper is _not_ weak."

" _Au contraire_ , she's too strong to be going through all of this. It's as if she's...content with any pregnancy outcome," the woman tutted coldly. She gave Tony a sly smile. "I don't mean to imply-"

"Then don't," Tony snarled. "Well, I think I've heard enough of your opinion for quite sometime. Good night, Nicholas, madam."

Tony ignored their last words, and slid up next to a waiter to exchange his empty glass of whiskey for a blood red wine from the other's tray.

Peter watched Tony closely as he tapped his foot impatiently, watching the rest of the guests like a hawk. Maybe he was looking for someone. For Peter?

 _Only one way to prove that_.

When no one was gawking at Tony, Peter walked up and tapped the man's shoulder from behind. Tony turned around and scowled, but it quickly disappeared as soon as he saw Peter.

"Peter," Tony breathed out, his expression revealing nothing and everything. "I'm glad you made it."

"I. Yeah." he replied.

"Eloquent as ever," Tony snorted. "Come here, kid. It's getting crowded."

Tony led him by the elbow to slip between one of the balcony doors' curtains that were left ajar for fresh air.

Peter shivered instantly. It was mid-February, and the night was chilly and clear with a dark cloud looming in the horizon, promising a late night snowfall.

As Peter pressed his lips together, Tony's arm wrapped around his waist, offering warmth.

"Tony," Peter whispered, trying to look behind them for any bystanders. The man shielded his wandering gaze and mouthed tenderly at Peter's healing bruises. "Tony," he repeated, the word sounding like thrill itself. "We'll be seen."

Tony grunted in agreement and stepped aside, clearly frustrated. Peter let out a tired chuckle as he stared at the nearly empty street below. It was nice to know that the irritation was mutual in a way.  
They leaned against the balcony in silence for a moment, before Peter rose his gaze and saw Tony already staring openly at him.

"What?" Peter whispered.

"You look ethereal."

Peter opened his mouth to tell him that he was wearing the same suit as the first night they met, but he realised at the last second that Tony was speaking about something beyond his attire. Peter closed his mouth and smiled. "Thank you."

The night was only lit by stars, but despite the darkness, everything was so clear for the first time in a long while.

Tony was in front of him, impeccably dressed, smelling like rich-tasting wine and motor oil. His dark hair was heavily tousled, but his goatee was trimmed. His smirk was breathtaking and his unwavering, open gaze was making Peter's knees tremble slightly.

Peter wanted Anthony Stark, Anthony Stark wanted him, and that was all that truly mattered to Peter at this point.

Society be damned.

Peter glanced at the curtains behind him, at the lively conversations inside not noticing Stark Senior's disappearance, and took a deep breath.

He slid to his right, slipping behind the balcony door, into the little space where no eyes except Tony's could see him. Peter met Tony's gaze and gave a crooked smirk. "Kiss me."

Tony inhaled sharply and left his wineglass on the ledge before following Peter, his darkening eyes not leaving his, as if he was in a trance.

Peter gasped lightly as Tony's hands immediately grasped his thighs to hoist him up, crushing their chests together, taking his breath away.

God, he felt _dizzy_. Peter cupped Tony's cheeks and lightly pecked his bristled chin, before meeting his dark gaze once again. "You said you desire me." Tony leaned in, but Peter raked his finger through Tony's hair, pulling slightly to stop him. Tony's low animal-like growl sent a hot shiver down Peter's body, but he only smiled in response. Remembering the gala in which they had first met, Peter leaned in and spoke against Tony's gritted teeth. "I _bet_ you were exaggerating."

Tony's dilated eyes glinted, knowing exactly to what Peter was referring. "Is that a challenge?"

"It's a promise."

Tony chuckled deeply and grasped Peter's nape. "I'll show you what's exaggerating."

_Lord, yes._

Peter opened his mouth as Tony once again leaned in, and he let out a deep sigh, wrapping his arms around the man's shoulders.

 _Finally_.

Peter imagined Tony's kisses to be gentle with a hint of aggressiveness, similar to Harry's, but this was different.

There were bits of Tony in his kisses. Peter could taste the sadness in the lingering tongue, the touch-starved anger in his nips, the smooth motion of an experienced, married man. Surprisingly, it was a rabid attack, there was a desperation, a call for attention and care as Tony pulled him even closer, their chests pressed tightly together, Tony's hands squeezing his arse as if making sure Peter was still there.

Peter yanked his head to the side, seeming as if he was taking a breather, but in reality, he was horribly overwhelmed. Oblivious to Peter's internal dilemma, Tony kept mouthing on his neck, his beard making Peter slowly ease up and giggle breathlessly.

"Tony..."

Tony hummed as he nipped his exposed collarbone.

"I'm...I'm not going anywhere." Peter whispered and let out a slight laugh. "There's no need to devour me."

Tony immediately leaned back and made a pained expression. "Is something-"

Peter tugged him closer and kissed him softly, pulling back when Tony began to respond. "Just be gentle. We have all the time in the world."

Tony chuckled. "What? You want me to treat you like my wife?"

Immediately, the dream-like glamour of the moment shattered, and MJ's warnings came flooding in.

Peter frowned, hurt that Tony would equate tenderness to Pepper. "No. I just don't want you to treat me like some alley whore." Tony scoffed, moving away, clearly annoyed by his defences, but Peter wrapped his legs tighter around him. "I'm not here to absorb your pain, o-or to be a warm body for you to pretend like your life is bright and exciting. It's not. The oppressed are being killed, the Nazis are taking control, your wife loves another, your son is laying his life for the country, and I deserve to be treated decent once in a fucking while! If you're not willing to accept that, then do me a favour and drop me off this balcony."

Tony exhaled sharply and looked at Peter for a century-long minute, before slowly brushing his thumb against Peter's bottom lip and taking Peter's pressed lips between his in a slow, measured kiss.

Peter let out a soft gasp, and Tony whispered an apology before kissing him fully, deep, yet slow.

Peter smiled against his lips and closed his eyes, burying his fingers in Tony's hair am letting himself go. Tony deemed Peter's pliant response as forgiveness, and began to slowly trace his hands down Peter's back to grasp again at his arse.

Peter felt as if his whole body was boiling. He shifted lightly, pushing his arse into the squeezing hands. He gasped hotly, and rocked downwards, instantly shuddering at the feel of Tony's prominent arousal against him.

 _Oh_.

Peter released himself from the kiss and moved downward to lick his way down Tony's rough neck, inhaling his heavy musk, hearing a disapproving hum.

Peter looked up, but he only saw Tony's heated gaze. "What's wrong?" he whispered, pressing a kiss on Tony's nose.

"I didn't say anything," Tony said leaning forwards and mouthing at Peter's clavicle. As soon as Tony's head moved out of his view, Peter saw a younger, leaner version of Tony raising an eyebrow at them, leaning against their abandoned spot at the balcony's railings.

" _Howard_!" Peter hissed, as if they were friends and he had interrupted Peter from getting a good lay. Peter quickly pressed his lips together, his mind racing to remind him that Howard wasn't actually his friend and that he was currently wrapped around Howard's _father_.

Tony stopped mid-kiss and slowly let go of Peter, making sure Peter was standing, before he turned around to face his son. "I can explain-"

"I don't care about your lonely cock, Dad. Save me the misery, _please_." Howard said. "Petey, a word, pal?"

Peter squeezed his way from behind a frozen Tony, cupping Tony's cheek in comfort, before glaring at Howard. "Don't be mean," he mouthed to him. " _Please_."

Howard rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. "Uh, thanks for coming, Dad. I can't wait to hear your speech. I bet it's great."

Tony quickly recovered. "Yes. Yes, it will- I'm proud of you, kid."

"Thanks, see ya'," Howard said emotionlessly and tugged Peter inside near the room's bar.  
"So, tell me. You have to submit your article this Friday?" Howard poured two shots of gin and gave one to Peter. "Oh, thanks for coming, pal."

"You didn't invite me," Peter hissed.

"Because I knew Dad would," Howard said,"I wasn't going to waste my time. Unlike you, who kept _that_ to yourself. Ever planned on telling me?"

"It started after that SSR meeting. I never lied to you."

Howard stared for a while, but then a smirk grew on his lips, a knowing look etched on his face. "The asthma attack."

Peter rolled his eyes and nearly staggered in his spot as he saw Hammer again through the crowd. Hammer was making his way across the room, a gorgeous, young blonde, joined at the elbow. "I've been meaning to ask. Why the hell did you invite him?"

Howard took a sip of his gin and smacked his lips together. "I invited him for your benefit. It's better to find out secrets when he's close to me. Especially here, surrounded by my alcohol and my beautiful friends." He motioned at the blond woman raising her eyebrow at Hammer as he talked. "Stacy's excellent. By the end of the night, she can have his bank number, if she wanted to. If you accept our offer, you would have the honour to work with her in the field."

"She's a spy?"

"A scout, but sure. Lets use spy. Stacy's set to do us a big field mission in Italy over the spring. Too bad you couldn't have joined her."

 _Italy? That's... far_. Peter bit his lip. "About that..."

Howard's smug expression changed instantly into a large, irritating know-it-all smirk. "You changed your mind?"

"Depends... On a lot of factors." Peter drawled, giving Howard back his gin. "Hammer almost choked me yesterday because of-"

Howard made a face. He gestured to Hammer and then to him. "Are you two...?"

Peter blanched. "No! Howard! Not every man I know- No!"

"I'm-" Howard burst out laughing. "Your face- Oh God- You're so pale- God-"

Peter crossed his arms. "To answer your question. Yes, it's due this Friday, and I hope you'll have whatever you need to take him down."

"Don't worry, pal," Howard slurred. "Stacy's your man. Or your woman, in this case. The world's changing, innit?"

Peter watched as Hammer blabbed his heart out to the blonde. It was bizarre to see how men confided in women so easily. It wasn't a common betrayal to be on the lookout for. "It sure is, but the job-"

"Oh no. Lets leave that discussion for tomorrow, when we both have a clear head, pal. Tonight's for celebration. But. One last thing. My mother," Howard said, his tone serious and low as he motioned to Pepper, who was talking to a tall and slim, well-dressed coloured man. "She's here. Keep it professional between you and Dad. For my image's sake. And her sake. She just gave birth and all." Howard snorted as an afterthought. "For some reason Dad's being a little more unpredictable tonight with you here."

Peter ignored Howard's comment, entranced by the odd stance of Pepper Stark, her relaxed posture, her glowing and soft smile, fingers wrapped tenderly around the well-dressed man's slim wrist.

Something akin to an accelerating car started to sound off in Peter's mind. "Is James Rhodes here?" he asked quite bravely to Howard.

The slim man smiled back at Pepper, looking immensely comfortable in her presence, despite his awkward rigid posture.

Peter let out a low whistle as he remembered the first time he heard Pepper mention Rhodes to Stark.

_"He can't, Tony," Pepper whispered. "He's disabled. Why did they do this?"_

"That's him," Peter breathed out. "That's-"

"Okay, okay, congratulations, buddy. You're not the only one here with illicit passions." Howard hushed. "Welcome to Manhattan, paperboy. Business has to go on anyway."

Peter peered at James Rhodes, feeling a little bit less alone in this daunting party. They might never shake hands, but at least he knew he wasn't the only one pining for a worry-free life with a Stark.

Howard sighed in annoyance, for once, not directed to Peter. "Who are you looking for?"

Peter started at the weight of someone's large hand on his shoulder. He looked to his side and relaxed as soon as he saw Tony smirking at his son. Tony made a theatrical sound of surprise. "Who am I looking for? Your girlfriend, of course. I haven't seen her all night. Where is she?"

Howard glared. "Peg- She's not here, and she's not my girlfriend."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really."

"Don't make me ask your mother."

" _Father_."

"Don't lie to me," Tony rose an eyebrow. His smiling eyes roved towards Peter. "I don't do well with lies, right, kid?"

Peter's heart somersaulted. Did he hear his and Howard's earlier conversation? Was he angry- _Don't be stupid. He's actually in a good mood--Look at his eyes. They're definitely in another_ -

"How about you say that speech of yours now, Dad?" Howard spoke up, breaking Peter and Tony from both of their reveries.

Howard slung an arm around Peter's neck and moved them towards the main area of the room away from his father. Howard lowered his voice, the tone quickly changing from bubbly to stale. "That way you might postpone going to fucking prison for that goddamn eye-fucking you two have going on."

Peter felt his face heating up, as everyone started to gather around the main staircase, Tony tapping his glass and going up a few steps to stand above the audience.

Once everyone huddled together, Tony rose his glass for their complete attention. "I'm going to be vulnerable for a minute here, ladies and gentlemen. This celebration...we would not be here if it wasn't for a particular eye-opening individual, someone who told me to give my son a push to the right direction."

Howard's grip on Peter's shoulder tightened. _Lord_ , Peter didn't blame him. Where was Tony going with this?

"I'm constantly telling my associates that I consider myself a futurist." Tony continued. "I am a man, who supports great minds, who supports tomorrow, and all who will inhabit it. And, admittedly, for quite a while, I became a bit of an hypocrite. I had entered a cycle of hubris, never letting my greatest joy, my son, the goddamn future, excel, to face his own challenges. But I was told, that I can't expect a generation to surpass me, if I don't give them the opportunity in the first place."

Peter froze.

But the world around him didn't. He could _feel_ the heat of Tony's gaze, but Peter's eyes quickly darted away to inspect the crowd.

From the corner of his eye, Peter saw the bright blue of Pepper's dress, and he peered at her face for any reaction. Her face was eerily bewildered, until one of the women in her posse cooed at Tony's words. In an instant, her puzzled face morphed into a large smile, her cheeks glowing a warm pink.

"Oh, Tony," she called out. "Always embarrassing me in public."

Peter felt Tony's eyes snap away from his and Howard's direction to gaze lovingly at his wife. "I can't help it, kid. You bring out the best in me."

Beside Peter, Howard broke into a fit of coughs. Peter immediately patted at his back as everyone around them laughed, considering Howard's reaction as a result of watching his parents unashamedly flirt in public.

Peter's racing heart knew better. He and Howard were reacting to Tony's slip-up endearment.

Peter's gaze flicked upwards as he tried to catch Tony's gaping, pale expression, but he saw quite the opposite. Tony seemed unbothered, as if he did not just call his wife a _kid_. As if _kid_ was just another affectionate name he had for Virginia Stark.

Tony was playfully hauling Pepper up the stairs and wrapping an arm around her. She rolled her eyes as he pecked her red curls and then, nuzzled her nose.

Peter felt a pang of jealousy run through his veins as he experienced Tony and Pepper flowing flawlessly together despite their true, inner feelings.

 _Damn it_. He blinked rapidly as his sight blurred. He _knew_ he and Tony could never even dream of anything similar. He could not even expect a second of acknowledgement as Tony spoke word-by-word about Peter's huge role in Howard's promotion, but-- _damn it_.

He _wished_.

"Come on," Howard spoke up beside Peter, his grave voice startling and stopping Peter from digging yet another hole in his already frail social life--by almost bursting into tears in the middle of a crowd of a hundred. "Close the curtains already!"

The guests burst out in laughter, and Pepper gave her husband a last quick kiss, as she grabbed Tony's wineglass, and raised it high. "To Howie!" she cried out.

"To Howard!"

"And to Stark Industries!" Tony added.

"Hear hear!"

The crowd boomed in yells and cheers, people immediately coming towards them to swarm Howard in celebration.

" _Hey_ ," Howard glowered at Peter, as if he was the mastermind behind all of his life's miseries. If it wasn't for the seriousness of the matters they had between them, Peter would have burst out laughing at Howard being hauled away by drunk, giggling women. "Whatever you two have, stop, pal." Howard jabbed at his chest. "It won't last. And it won't end well. So quit whilst you're breathing."

Peter stared numbly as Howard drown out of sight, people surrounding him for hugs and kisses on the cheeks. It's been a while since anyone in the room has gotten a feel of a victory.

Before he could ponder upon Howard's sobering words, a quick hand slapped his shoulder out of nowhere.

"Parker, I was looking for you!"

Peter froze, his insides forming an unpleasant fit.

_Do not play games with me, Parker._

Tony was stiffly walking beside Hammer, a wineglass in hand, clearly not happy with the fact that they knew each other. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

"Have you met my best writer, Tony?" Hammer drawled, wrapping an arm around Peter's shoulders. Peter rapidly shrugged his hand off in revulsion, which Hammer was more than happy to comply. "I believe he has a part-time job at your home. All his talk about you in the office motivates me to enter the weaponry industry, you know? The one you threatened me not to invest in?"

"Of course I did." Tony said.  _Oh God, what_? His scoff came natural, as if Hammer's statement was the stupidest thing he ever heard. "Tell me, when have you ever been good at anything other than stirring up trouble, Justin?"

"Ah." Hammer's expression darkened. "There's the Tony Stark I know." Peter took one look at Hammer's whitened face, and stepped back to leave the perimeter of the heated discussion. Hammer pinpointed Peter's shifting eyes. " _Parker_."

 _Fuck_. "Yes, Mr. Hammer?" Peter blurted out, which made Tony raise an eyebrow at Peter's tone.

"Go make that dainty head of yours useful and bring me a glass of wine." Hammer tutted. "We businessmen are going to have a little talk."

Peter turned around quickly to hide his emerging scowl. Lord. Why can't some people drop dead?

He stomped away towards the bar, where Hammer's earlier conquest was already staring at the direction Peter was coming from.

Peter harrumphed to catch the blonde's attention, who languidly rolled her eyes towards him. "Why aren't you feeding off Justin Headache over there? Weren't you going to catch his social security number or something?" Peter snapped.

The blonde just smirked. "Oh, I don't want to interrupt Stark Sr. Besides, I have the rest of the night for that, darling."

Peter made a face, and the woman laughed out loud.

"All right," she cooed. "A friend of Howard is a friend of mine. Gwen Stacy, at your service. Any other request, Mister...?"

"Parker." Peter said, mulling over Hammer's dismissal. "Well, bring him a glass of wine as a peace offering."

The woman hummed, and stood up, tapping her empty wineglass with her long nail. A waiter appeared out of nowhere, quickly came to her side, poured her a refill, and disappeared among the guests. She looked back to him one last time and winked suggestively. "I hope we'll see each other again, Parker. Sooner than later."

Peter stared at the exuberant, young lady, and wondered how he was going to eventually break it to her and tell her his sexual preferences. Although something about her seemed to send off vibes that she wouldn't give a damn if it came to it.

Peter huffed and stared at the dancing, plastered couples, his lack of sleep in the last few days catching up to him. He closed his eyes, opened them in protest, and then decided to close them indefinitely.

A doze wouldn't hurt anybody.

 

* * *

 

"Parker."

Peter's eyes popped open, his heart hammering in his chest from the sudden call. He turned around to find the bitter voice, expecting yet another untimely appearance from Hammer--or even Steve, but once he looked up, he only saw Tony, his face upholding a dark expression.

Observing Tony Stark's stiff figure, Peter cleared his throat and decided to continue the interaction a little more formal than he would normally. "Mr. Stark, need any assistance?"

Tony harrumphed. "We're leaving."

Peter frowned, completely confused. "Leaving? W-we? But-"

"Come on, Parker," Tony muttered. He made to put an arm around Peter, but thought against it at the last second. He firmly gave Peter two pats on the back and pushed him towards the opened lift.

Peter stumbled inside and whipped around to snap at the man, but he quickly clambered his mouth shut at the sight of Tony's stoic gaze. "Let's have a long, overdue chat, shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for reading!  
> The next chapter is...halfway finished. Fingers crossed it's posted before next week ends? 
> 
> Thanks for staying though! I know plot-heavy fics are not that easy to read through haha


	6. Checks & Deadlines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter what, no matter when or where he ended it--whether it would be here in the privacy of Tony's office or caught by policemen in a dark alley--Peter would always feel like his lungs were being ripped off his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any chunky narrative. Half of this chapter was written weeks ago, and the other half was written a couple of minutes ago. Isn't procrastinating such a wonderful thing?
> 
> Warnings: non-explicit sex, explicit fluff & angst, and Howard Stark

"Get in."

Tony Stark's car roared to life, and without giving it much thought, Peter wrapped his hand around the car passenger's door handle, but decided to let it go a moment later. "Haven't you been drinking at the party?" He asked and stepped back. "Maybe I can drive us home-"

The door in front of him swung open, and he peered inside the car to see Tony adjusting himself back to the driver's seat, his hands finding a firm grip on the steering wheel.

Tony shifted the gear. "Get. In." He turned his head to begin to reverse the car, not giving Peter a second of a glance. "Now."

Peter quickly slipped into the seat and shut the door beside him. The car immediately squealed backwards and jolted forwards as soon as the skyscraper's garage entrance was in front of them.

After a couple of cardiac-arrest-worthy sharp turns, they were finally on the semi-empty motorway.

The silence was tense--and suffocating. What overdue chat was Tony referring to? There was too many damn things Peter was concealing, and it was giving him jitters.

Peter let out a noisy sigh. Tony's silence was starting to freak him out. The older man just gripped the wheel tighter in response.

Okay. _Okay_.

He had to try something else. They were getting too far away from the city for comfort.

"Where are we going?"

"To talk," Tony said shortly.

"I got that, but we can't- I have work to do back in Queens-"

"Oh, I know." Tony interrupted coldly. "Hammer and I talked, remember?"

Immediately, his stomach fell. He felt as if he was being attacked from all sides. The quiet, small space of the car was suddenly feeling incredibly tight. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to shift his focus away from his churning stomach.

 _God_. He could taste bile.

In between the pattering of the outside snow and the auto's motor, Peter heard a frustrated sigh and then: "Kid- Parker. I'm not- This isn't against you. I just think we need a little breather, don't you think?"

"Sure," Peter said lamely. "Whatever works for you, _Mr. Stark_."

"Peter-"

"I understand," Peter spoke up before Tony could continue. "That you're angry, that you're dissatisfied. With me, with Howard, with the war, with P-your wife. I know, Tony, I _know_. But goddamn. Would it hurt for you to have some sort of stability in your life? Peter, kid, or Parker. Choose one, and then we'll talk. Better yet. Let me know if I'm your lover, or just an existential crisis experiment."

Tony let out a cold laugh. "Dear Lord, is that really what's bothering you right now?"

"Yes!"

"All right."

"All right _what_?"

All of a sudden, Tony pressed the horn repeatedly. He cursed loudly at the slow car in front of him and roughly swerved around it, slamming his foot on the gas pedal as he continued on the unfamiliar, barely lit motorway.

Peter furiously turned in his seat, his fingers clawing at his seat and his heart hammering in his chest. " _Anthony_!"

Tony paid no attention to him, and Peter gave a frustrated yell before sinking on his seat, and crossing his arms. He shut his eyes tightly, as soon as he saw his vision turn blurry, and leaned against the side of the car, wishing he was anywhere but there.

 

* * *

 

"Peter."

Peter hummed in response and hissed as soon as he shifted from his stiff position against the window. He blinked open his slightly sore eyes and noticed that the motor was turned off.

He had fallen asleep.

He straightened in his seat and turned his head to his left, catching Tony's scrutinising gaze in the auto's shadows.

Slowly but steady, the man rose his hand and cupped it under Peter's chin. Peter fought the urge to slap the hand away, and sighed in defeat, bearing his neck slightly. His breath hitched as Tony's hand turned into fingers as it traced down Peter's neck and collarbone, before finally coming up and wiping a dried tear track from his cheek. Peter gave him a closed mouth smile and grabbed the hand against his cheek.

It was hard to stay angry.

"Peter," Tony said again. He cleared his throat and began stroking his thumb in comfort. "I care about you. You've pointed out sides of me--that I've tried to ignore for years. You're, Pete, you're something else." Tony sighed. "What I mean to say is...you are nothing but my lover, Peter. Never think otherwise."

Peter stared at him, terrified of what was to come. "But?"

"But." Tony sighed deeply, as he took back his hand, making Peter feel terribly cold. He faced forwards and Peter followed suit.

In front of them, there sat a simple, ordinary house with nothing but pitch blackness behind it. Peter squinted, but he turned to Tony once he realized he couldn't figure out what he was looking at. "Where are we?"

"Small waterside town in Connecticut," Tony answered. "About an hour and a half away from Manhattan." He motioned to the house. "That was my sanctuary when I needed to escape from life back home."

"Did you bring...people here?" Peter asked, remembering the confession of the countless affairs Tony had throughout his marriage.

"You're the only one that knows," Tony answered instead. He cleared his throat and opened his door, the heavy snow outside quickly piling on the side. "Let's go inside."

 

* * *

 

 

Peter tugged the window's curtains wide open and tried to figure out the mysterious pitch black background of the home. "Oh."

From the home's kitchen, Tony's voice rang out, "What's wrong?"

"When you said waterside town, I didn't think we were actually beside the shore."

There was a comfortable silence as Peter took in the barely visible sand outside the home and the sounds of both nearby waves crashing on the shore and Tony opening and closing cupboards beyond the bedroom. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

This felt...

"Have you travelled before?" Tony spoke up.

Peter closed up the curtains and left the bedroom, slipping inside the spacious kitchen. The barely lit chandelier above casted a golden glow over Tony, who was preparing hot beverages. Tony looked up and gave him a warm closed mouth smile before continuing with his task.

"No." Peter said. "At least not this far. I'd like to go to Italy one day though. My aunt... She was born and raised there, but she left when Mussolini started his targetings. And so did my old boss. But I would still want to go. I want to practice my Italian."

_"Stacy's set to do us a big field mission in Italy over the spring. Too bad you couldn't have joined her."_

He shuddered, trying to stay focused on his surroundings. He rummaged through the unfamiliar kitchen for mugs to no avail. He thought of Tony's home back in the city, and opened up the stove, remembering his oddly organised kitchen. He set the two mugs on the counter and faced Tony, who was smiling softly. Peter returned the smile. "And you?" he asked.

"I've travelled," he said as he poured the drinks. "I like living beside the sea the most. Preferably far, far away from New York."

The sea? He would have never guessed. Peter took a mug. "Why do you live here-there?"

"Pepper." Tony said. "We lived in California when Howard was smaller, but she hated it there. Hated the people, the climate..."

"Did James Rhodes live in New York?"

Tony chuckled. "I appreciate your loyalty, Pete, but we moved because of me. And Rhodey means well."

"Did he live in New York?" Peter repeated.

"Pete-Yes," Tony admitted and cleared his throat. "But enough about them. Let's talk about us."

Without thinking, once he heard the words, Peter gulped down the hot liquid he was sipping and bit his lip to avoid yelling in pain. Tony rose his gaze at the sound and raised an eyebrow at Peter's strange face.

"Continue," Peter croaked.

Tony shrugged and walked towards him as he mixed his mug's liquid with a spoon of sugar. Peter jumped on the counter and spread his legs to accommodate the incoming man. A smile grew on Peter's face as he remembered how he had longed to have the same relationship that Tony and Pepper had back at the gala.

Tony buried himself between his legs and absentmindedly stroked Peter's left thigh as he took a couple of sips of his cocoa. Peter, who had already traded his damp suit for a sleeping robe he had found in the master bedroom, started to unbutton Tony's snow-damp shirt. Peter gave himself a small smirk. He would never again even _think_ of trading _this_ over the Starks' public act. "You're going to catch a cold," he said softly, once Tony raised an eyebrow at his moving fingers.

Tony set the mug against the counter. "That's why I made hot cocoa." Nevertheless, he started to help Peter in getting rid of his suit.

Peter snorted as he leaned back and stared at the emerging torso. The sight made him feel slightly warmer than usual. He took his mug again and hid his growing smirk behind it.

"So, Hammer owns a gossip newspaper." Tony stated.

 _Not gossip_ , Peter mused, but he decided to ignore the insult. "Yes. He owns a big share, and I-uh-work for it. I told you. Scholar's Daily. Science section."

"All right," Tony made a sound, taking a sip of cocoa. "I'm going to start by giving you the benefit of the doubt. You didn't know that Hammer was my business rival, so-"

"I did."

"What?"

"I did know," Peter said, the words tasting like bile. "That's how it all started... He heard me talking about you, and he saw an opportunity."

"Hold on. You were talking about me? Opportunity? You _knew_?"

"I don't-" Peter bit his lip, trying to get his thought together, and direct the conversation towards a truce. "I don't...know what's- I don't know what your rivalry is about, but I know it exists. Almost everyone considers you-" Peter exhaled in desperation. "Yes. I knew."

Tony stared at him, the hand on his thigh stopping in its track as the man caught on to Peter's babble. "Huh."

"H-he likes to hear about you," Peter continued, "Hear what I hear a-around the house, so I-I might have told him you're going to a friend's funeral in Germany."

Tony's voice was unusually quiet. "What?"

"B-because I heard you. When we. You know. And Howard interrupted. We did that thing. The asthma attack. Which was amazing. We executed that well. And I- Right. Yeah. But when I was leaving. He. Howard. Said you were going to Germany. I told Hammer. I thought-"

"I'm not going to Germany," Tony interrupted, and Peter's mouth closed at last.

"You're...not?"

"I don't work for Howard and Carter's little lab squad." Tony resumed his massage on Peter's thigh, and Peter relaxed, setting his cup on the counter. "I said no to my son's little espionage trip." He raised an eyebrow. "So, you're Hammer's grapevine?"

"I guess." Peter murmured.

"And that's it?" Tony asked. "No manifesting articles about me?"

"Not on my watch," Peter spat out.

"Touching." Tony smirked. "And what do you have to work on back in Queens?"

"What?"

"You mentioned it on the way here."

Peter blanched. "It's- It was an excuse. I was terrified. You could have dumped me in the woods. I should be sleeping right now. It's- You know how bad this whole trip looks?"

Luckily, it did the trick. Tony, once again relaxed, and burst out in laughter. "Where's your sense of adventure, Peter?"

"Well, it's definitely not here at..." Peter glanced at the wall clock and sputtered. "Three 'o clock in the morning? _Tony_! We-"

Tony grinned widely. "Ah, yes. Excellent song choice, Pete," he said, heading towards the bedroom, and Peter sputtered again.

_What on-_

From within the room at the back of the home, a slow tune started to play, and Peter grimaced at the sound.

_What's with the ancient music?  
_

He sighed tiredly at the sound of Tony goading him to the room, and set his mug down, before sliding off the counter and approaching the grinning man. The man was already tugging on a new, red shirt. Rough, dark red material that made Tony scratch underneath his arms for how overused the shirt was.

Peter laughed at the sight, smiling brightly despite feeling like shit. The more he lied, the more empty he felt.

 _I guess that's good_ , he mused. _That means I love him, and I care_ -

Peter clammed against the bedroom's doorframe, as Tony set the needle on the right track, already humming the tune before it even started.

 _Okay_.

Tony picked up Peter's stiff fingers and squeezed them before entwining his fingers with his right hand and lowering his left hand to Peter's waist.

"This is such a nice song, isn't it?"

Peter scoffed. "It's jazz."

"Ah, I forget," Tony rested his chin on top of Peter's head and made a disapproving hum. "What's that man I keep hearing you youngsters yapping about? Muller?"

"Miller. Glenn Miller. Come on, you have to admit that swing is such a good upgrade than this old jazz. The bands are more-"

"Obnoxious? Impersonal?" Tony offered.

Peter nipped the first plane of skin he saw and smiled, "Lively. They're lively. And impersonal? Tony, you've clearly been listening to the wrong songs."

"I could say the same thing. Jazz is lively, too, kid. It's what aided the boys and I to blend in when we were plastered back in the day. Jazz helped thousands survive the Prohibition. Tell me one potential felony that _jive_ has saved you from."

Peter smiled in defeat and rested his head against Tony as the man started humming to the beat of the slow song. "Is this really a debate we're having?"

"You started it," Tony quipped as he swayed them around. Peter decided to give the sensitive man his win and hummed in agreement, closing his eyes and focusing on the warmth of the moment.

It was amazing how everything he did with Tony felt exhilaratingly good. Simply being near him made Peter feel safe and at peace, despite being in a strange house miles away from the city, dancing to a two decade old song, while the clock ticked away for Friday's deadline.

Time was nothing when it came to being in Tony's arms. The entirety of the world was against him and he didn't give a damn.

_God, I love this._

Caught in the moment, Peter raised his head and kissed the corner of Tony's mouth. The man snapped out of his closed eyed reverie and lowered his brown eyes to gaze at him.

 _I love him_.

Peter wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed the man softly, emitting a moan when Tony slowly pressed his hands down Peter's back to bring them closer together.

"Tony, I'm. Oh-" Peter gasped as he was once again prompted by his lover's eager hands to jump up and wrap his legs around Tony's waist.

"Good god, I love when you do that...These legs of sin," Tony groaned as he began to blindly walk forwards. "What were you saying?"

"I-ah- _forgot_!" Peter squealed, as he was thrown harshly on the bed. He shrieked as he bounced up once before falling down once and for all. He opened his eyes and practically screamed as he saw the other man beginning to launch himself on top of Peter. He rolled to his side and covered the back of his head. "Tony!"

Tony chuckled, boxing Peter underneath him, which, for some inexplicably reason, made them both burst into a fit of giggles, as if they were heavily intoxicated. Soon after the laughter died down, Tony propped himself on one arm, and started laying soft kisses and bites on Peter's neck as they listened to the music in the background.

Well, Tony listened. Peter was half asleep.

"I like the idea of Italy, too." Tony spoke up.

Peter opened his eyes. "For what?"

"For you. Me. Us," Tony murmured and Peter preened at the words. "My mother was from Italy, too. Nice way to finally connect with her. In a way."

"In a way?"

"In a way," Tony echoed. "She died giving birth to me. I never got to meet her."

Peter looked up, and touched the man's beard with his knuckles. "You should go to Italy, then."

Tony grabbed onto his hand and kissed its palm. "Do you like it here? The view, I mean. Or do you prefer trees?"

Peter's stomach fluttered at the question, dreading where Tony was taking the conversation. "Definitely this. I love...this."

"If you come with me, you'll see the ocean every day."

"Is that a challenge?" Peter said carefully.

Tony crooked a finger and tilted Peter's chin up with it. "It's a promise."

Peter quickly moved his head to the side, Tony's kiss landing poorly on his cheek. Peter closed his eyes and felt Tony's fingers stiffen against his chin. "We can't leave."

"Why the hell not? You like living in Queens?"

"Yes. No. Not really. I-But-"

"We can get away, Peter. I'll find us a quiet little corner in Italy."

Peter shook his head wildly. "No, Tony. It's dangerous. Europe, as a whole, is in ruins. This is much more safer. Closer to our families." He could practically hear Tony _fuming_. "What would we-I mean-uh-what would _you_ do with Edward? He's growing- It's too much change for him. We can't-"

"Okay." Tony snapped, obviously annoyed. "I understand, Peter. My idea is stupid, and you're brilliant."

Peter stared at him and pouted. "You're just saying that to make me shut up."

"Did it work?"

Peter turned his back to Tony, and snorted. "It _was_ stupid," he pointed out.

The man nestled behind him, raising the bed sheets over them, and wrapping an arm around him, as another waltz echoed in the dark room.

It _was_ stupid. There was nothing in Europe for them until the Allies became victorious--which seemed to be a lifetime away. In the continent, there was only space for bloodshed and truces, and everything in between. New York was safe, and everything they had was there. New York was their best bet, if they were to stay together.

At least...until everything against them caught up to them.

"What spurred this on?" Peter whispered into the still room, voicing his thoughts.

Peter waited patiently, but Tony didn't answer for a long while. Deeming the man asleep, Peter smiled against the sheets, squirming even closer to the man's chest, and tucking Tony's arm under his cheek. He was already drifting away into sleep when Tony's mouth moved against his nape.

"I have a knack for...not paying attention to what's actually good for me. When I do, it's too late... I don't want to lose you."

Peter hummed in his sleep. He had no idea what Tony was talking about. "Yes. Knack. I'm...paying, too."

Tony's laughter shook the entire bed, making Peter growl in his sleep. "Good night, Pete."

 

* * *

 

The morning after was littered with small, trivial activities that Peter wasn't accustomed to...but he'd be happy to grow used to.

They both had woken up to the sun's early rays, which made the romantic in Peter gush out in slow kisses against the man's face and torso. Tony reciprocated with flipping Peter on his stomach and sinking underneath the sheets.

Peter didn't know whether to be eembarrassed over the ache the beard burn created every time he took a step in the kitchen, or mortified over the drool stained pillow he sheepishly hid under the bed.

The rest of the morning felt like he was floating. Tony's old tunes echoing in the house as he took a shovel to scrape the driveway's snow. The too cold shower, and how he almost fell as Tony twirled him around the damp room like a madman. The faces they made at each others as they drank what was left from last night's batch of cocoa.

Unfortunately, the moment shattered immediately after they entered the car. The trip back to New York was completely silent, other than a few quips and directions Peter gave to Tony as they pulled into the Queens borough.

"Home, sweet, home," Peter laughed, once he saw the grey, at-the-brink-of-collapse building he had lived in for the last two years, come into view. "You can park in front of the black car there. No muggers at this hour of the day. Promise."

Tony cleared his throat as soon as he pulled the break. Peter glanced over, and saw him staring at the dark blue auto parked in front of them. He made a strange noise, before clearing his throat once again. "It looks like you have company."

Peter made a face. "They're probably visiting the old couple on the second floor. Queens' not entirely abandoned you know."

Tony kept his head straight ahead, and made an unconvincing sound of agreement, and Peter sighed, not understanding the man's abrupt mood change.

Perhaps last night's conversation had crawled its way back to Tony's mind. Maybe Peter's rejection stung him harder than expected. Being there, in Queens, where Peter had to finish writing a piece, and not pack for a transatlantic trip had probably left Tony feeling sullen.

It was stupid--and irritating. Tony was actually expecting them to leave their livelihoods, their friends and family, for the unknown? Not likely. He seriously could not figure out whether Tony was being a hopeless romantic or was actually missing a few screws.

He was finally seeing eye to eye with Steve's complaints the night of the SSR meeting. Peter could clearly see that there's a time for the self and there's time for service. And with the world up in flames, Peter couldn't dabble in abandoning and half-arsed assignments. It just wasn't right, and it wasn't fair. It was frustrating to notice Tony failing to see it his way.

For a second, he thought of letting the older man brood by himself. He could say a simple farewell, leave the auto, and slam his face against his bed upstairs. He was still tired, and he had to set everything up for Friday's deadline--and plan out what 'everything' would be. Tony seemed like a ton of extra weight at the moment, and Peter wasn't really willing to deal with it.

He reached out to open his door, but he bit his lip, tapping the handle in thought instead.

His eyes slowly made its way back to Tony, observing his stiff, hardened arms gripping the wheel tightly.

Peter pursed his lips.

It didn't hurt to try.

Right?

Peter slowly kneeled on his seat, and cheekily reached out to grab Tony's inner thigh, tilting the man's chin towards him with his spare hand's forefinger.

Tony still looked awfully stoic, but Peter kept advancing, nipping at his lower lip, his other hand nearing Tony's crotch.

Peter nearly fainted once he heard an animalistic growl. In an instant, his hand was in a tight, burning grip, pinned to the steering wheel.

Peter's body was aching. His whole upper body was lifted and twisted across the width of the auto, his knees barely touching his seat anymore. Peter _throbbed_ \--whether it was in pain or pleasure, he had no idea.

Tony took notice of his position, and raised an amused eyebrow. "If you bring those legs over here," he began, his voice tinged with a rasp. "I promise you they won't be able to work for at least a week."

"And the problem is...?"

"I'm not an animal, Peter. I'm not fucking you in a car."

Peter moaned at the words, and Tony sputtered, gripping his wrist tighter. "Where's your sense of adventure, Tony?" he murmured, remembering Tony's words last night.

Tony scoffed. "I left them in the 20's."

Peter started to raise a leg over the shifting gear. "In the 20's?" Peter leaned in to mouth at his rough jaw. He lowered his voice, and cooed. "That's not quite right. Edward's almost four years old."

Tony chuckled breathily at his joke, stopping Peter's leg before it could reach across. "I'm still not an animal. I fucked her over a desk."

Peter gasped as Tony went against his own words and gnawed on Peter's jugular.

"Then...oh...aah...fuck me in... _aah_ car."

"No." Tony said, and the moment was over. The man pushed Peter back against his seat, and looked forwards, placing his hands once again on the steering wheel, not giving Peter any openings to try his seduction again. "If I'm going to fuck you, it's going to be on a bed." Peter opened his mouth, and Tony rose his hand to stop him. "On a comfortable, _Manhattan_ bed."

" _If_?" he scoffed playfully. He let out a laugh, and Tony harrumphed roughly.

"Peter..."

"Why _if_?" Peter smiled, tilting his head to the side to try to see Tony's full face. "Is there some requirements I'm missing? Do I have to do some-"

"Peter, I'm not in the mood."

 _Huh_. "Clearly." Peter sighed. "I-uh-I'll see you tomorrow. Tony."

Something akin to the word "yes" uttered itself out of Tony's mouth, but Peter decided to figure it out later--when he actually had the energy to work with Tony's stubbornness.

 

* * *

 

Something was wrong.

It was almost midday, so his apartment was supposed to be still, dim, and quiet--not buzzing like the end of an university lecture.

Ned and Flash worked until the evening, and MJ's shifts only allowed her to be around the house from dusk to dawn.

Peter stood still, and deciphered the odd noise; the buzz was coming from inside the bedroom.

He quietly set his damp jacket on their bizarrely full coat rack-- _Who on earth went on a coat spree?,_ and carefully pulled out the web canister Michelle kept in the kitchen cupboard as the household glue. He shook the can to make sure it still had fluid, and stepped quietly towards his room. He pressed his ear against the door and frowned.

 _Voices_?

"...about a quarter of a million in total, give or take. It's insane how much people can invest in these days."

 _Who_ -

"Well, can you really expect anything from him after everything we know?"

 _Howard_?

Peter turned the knob and barged into the room, and opened his mouth to yell, but his mouth clambered shut at the sight.

On his writing desk, its lumpy chair, on his bed and on Michelle's...there sat Howard Stark, Gwen Stacy, Michelle Jones, and Liz Allan respectively.

His mouth opened again, but it made no sound. _What the hell_?

Howard raised an eyebrow at him, before continuing to pass a folder he had in his hand to Gwen Stacy. "Petey, nice for you to join us. We've all been waiting here for you since morning. Care to explain where you were wasting our precious time at?"

Why, oh, _why_ was Liz Allan here?

If he remembered correctly, the last time he heard of her-

_"He's going to a German funeral." Peter sobbed, massaging his neck. "Stark's going to Germany."  
_

_"Good enough. I'll send Toomes' brat to bring you some...spark to add spice to that."_

Right.

Did Liz bring it? Did Howard read it? Was he already aware? Did they already formulate a plan, or did Liz recognise him and stashed away the highly incriminating documents?

 _God_. Why was _MJ_ there? How did she get roped into this? Did they catch her leaving for work in the morning? And demanded to see him or else?

Peter felt utterly lost, and the feeling was gradually pissing him off.

He decided to yell at Howard first.

"You know where I live!" He stomped towards the man and jabbed at his chest. "That's-"

"Incorrect," Howard said smoothly, infuriating Peter even more. "I know that my lovely Liz knows where you live. I just followed her here."

Peter fumed. "She _works_ for you? Does everyone in this room fucking work for you?" His eyes darted towards MJ, who refused to meet his gaze. He felt his whole body turning red with fury, facing Howard again. "Now what? Came here to tell me that you control my whole entire life? Am I your latest talisman for your fucking collection?"

"Petey," MJ hushed. "Calm down. _I_ don't work for the Starks. And they're here to help you."

"No, Michelle," he hissed. "This isn't help. Its an invasion of privacy. Everywhere I look there's corruption. At work, in love, in _friendships_ ," He glared at Liz, who blanched and looked away. "In the fucking government. There's nothing- _Fuck_!"

There was a pregnant pause in the room as Peter tried to regain his breath. _God, MJ's right. I'm overrea-_

Howard broke the silence, chuckling as if Peter's fit was a measly scene. "I'm guessing your overnight honeymoon with Tony didn't end with you screaming the way you wanted."

Peter saw _red_.

There was shouts and yells of both his and Howard's names, but Peter ignored them. The only noise he wanted to hear was the manifestation of Howard's _regret._

He blindly charged towards Howard, and immediately aimed at the prick's smug face. He would have slammed a fist against Howard's chin, if it wasn't for someone instantly yanking him away and slamming him against the floor, breaking his frenzy. He glared up, his breaths uneven, harshly blowing through his gritted teeth, and made out Stacy's shaking head.

She then pressed her lips, trying to hide away a smile, as she yanked away the web canister from his hand.

Peter heard a yell and then a thump and a scuffle against the wooden floor.

"I-I-I can't breathe! I-I-"

Peter rose his head slightly and smirked at the sight of Howard, clawing at his web-stuffed face, kneeled on the floor. MJ was bending down, trying to cup Howard's head still, as he scattered around like a startled insect.

"Stop being dramatic." MJ muttered, slapping the back of the man's head.

" _I'm not being dramatic_!" Howard practically shrieked. " _I. Can't. Breathe_."

Peter chuckled, letting Stacy haul him up to his feet. "Welcome to Queens, Howard. Respect is earned here."

Liz and MJ turned to look at him, in distraught and amusement respectively.

Peter let out a laugh at the sight, and Howard turned towards his voice, his hands swinging wildly in fury.

" _Parker_!"

"I'm, ah," Gwen began, pushing Peter out of the bedroom. "Going to explain the plan to Peter Parker here. You, stay. And deal with that...white stuff."

Peter snorted and followed Gwen Stacy towards the front door, Howard's curses echoing through the narrow apartment like a sweet lullaby.

 

* * *

 

"Let me process this... This, _this_ small thread can hold on to you, Michelle, and who again?"

"Ned Leeds, our friend," Peter said cooly, rolling to his back and gazing at the dark grey sky. "Do you think that's rain or snow?"

"It can hold around four hundred pounds? That's-" Peter heard Gwen dispense some web fluid and turned towards her. She pulled on the unbreakable thread and gasped. Peter raised his head a bit, and saw that she had attached it to the roof's iced ledge. "Good God, Peter. Is there any solid material it can't attach to?"

"Not that I know of." Peter shrugged. The novelty of his invention had worn out months ago, when he failed again and again to make a pitch with various manufacturers. According to them, the war needed more explosives, not fancy glue. Peter frowned, remembering how failing as an entrepreneur had brought him to work for Hammer. _And using up all of my savings to unsuccessfully follow Harry to California_ , a voice in his head said, eerily similar to Steve's.

"Darling," Gwen said, interrupting him from his brooding thoughts. Her eyes were glowing with wonder. It warmed Peter's heart that someone else was attuned to his invention as much as he was. "This thing is brilliant. I- You said it took you a night to come up with it?"

Peter nodded and shrugged. "I graduated earlier with honours because of it. By the time I turned nineteen, I had my degree."

Gwen blinked, doing the math in her head. "But you said you graduated last year--You're _twenty_? And- hold on. No one bought this magnificent- Hold on." Her face softened. "You said your aunt died two years ago. No one was with you at graduation?"

Peter chuckled, appreciating the thought. "Michelle was there. She's always there for me. She even..." He smiled softly. "She even went behind my back to promote it to potential sell-"

_Shit.  
_

_I'm being an imbecile. And a hypocrite._

He hid his face in the crook of his elbow and groaned.

"I need to apologise to Liz." Peter sighed. "That was awful what I did to her down there."

Gwen smirked. "How about Howard?"

"He bothers me." Peter muttered. "I'm not apologising."

"I wouldn't either...Is it...true? You and Stark? His father and you, I mean."

"Yes," Peter said, preparing himself for the inevitable interrogation.

"Do you like it?" She scrunched her nose in confusion. "Opening yourself like a woman?"

Peter gaped. "I...Yes." He frowned at the way she formulated the question, and turned to her, finally sitting up next to her. "You don't like sex?"

Gwen looked surprise, as if it was rare for someone to read her so easily. Peter swore he saw her cheeks turn pink. "Well, no. I-I try to avoid it."

Peter felt sorry for her. "It's not easy, is it?"

She shook her head, and shrugged her shoulders. "I like my job. I feel like I'm helping. I was the one who found out about Hydra's existence, you know? But..." She pressed her lips together, she looked vulnerable. "I rather not have this job."

"Why not quit?"

"You know it's not that easy, darling," she pointed out, and Peter's stomach churned. She sighed and fiddled with the web thread stuck to the ice. "And I like it. I just prefer some roles over others. Romance becomes meaningless afterwards. All the pretending..." She straightened up, and snorted amusedly. "I'm babbling, am I?"

"It's okay!" Peter said, but she brushed him off, her inner turmoil already gone without a trace from her bright face.

"Mind if I borrow this? For your exciting scoop, of course," Gwen spoke up, shaking the web canister still grasped in her hand, a grin growing wide on her face. She hurriedly took out a folder from within the layers of her coat, and handed it to Peter. He opened it up, recognising it as the one Howard gave her earlier. "I'm doing you a small deed. For being such a darling to all of us in SSR."

Peter froze at the folder's content. Checks. He flipped through the pages, the receipts, intact except for fresh ink-circles around the same name in each check copy.

_Karl Stark_

"Who is this?" Peter peered at the pages, rummaging through each of them. There were dozens. Monthly payments. Amounting to _thousands_ of US dollars. _What is this? What is this for?_ "I don't know this person."

"That's because he doesn't exist," Gwen assured, and Peter frowned. "It's Hammer's alias."

"For what?" Peter mused. "Why is he using Tony's sur-"

"To fund the Nazi police." she said, and leaned in to point out the recipients' names. "Hammer gave Liz his dirty work, so you could pin it on your article on Stark Senior. This are all receipts of money transfers from Hammer's private account to accounts owned by high-ranking Gestapo officers."

"How-"

Gwen was years ahead of him. She fished out of her pocket, a folded checkbook, and a store receipt. "I told you, darling. It took me the rest of the night, and I had him wrapped around my finger."

Peter yanked the store receipt from her hand. A jewellery boutique. Pearl necklace. A hefty price charged to the account of Justin Hammer, who has... "The same bank account number as so-called Karl Stark. _Gwen_! This-How- Gwen!"

The blonde untied her scarf, and her expensive necklace shone despite the gloomy, dark sky above. "Beautiful, isn't it? Hammer bought it last night after we left Howard's party. Then, he gave me a checkbook for my troubles as a parting gift. Sort of useless, to be frank. Now that he's going to be capture by US military, and his money will be frozen, then it doesn't serve its purpose as a gift-"

Peter sputtered. "Gwen! This is- How are you-"

"Don't worry, darling. Just relax, and enjoy the rest of your stellar week." Gwen gave him a sideway squeeze. "The SSR has you covered. You don't even have to write the damn paper."

"Y-you're publishing this?"

"Of course!" she smirked. "Hammer wanted a scoop, and he shall get it. Free of charge. I told you, darling. I love my job. _This_ is the best part. Pinning down the fascist snakes."

Peter gaped, his mind going a thousand miles per hour. Justin Hammer was funding the Gestapo. Gwen Stacy was going to finish his god-awful article. The club was safe and hidden.

"How can I thank you?" Peter whispered.

"Darling, just you accompanying me to Italy is enough for me."

Peter winced, and stared at the bland, grim ground way down below. "Between you and me, I...I'm hesitant about the job."

"Why?" Gwen raised an eyebrow. "You're overly qualified, you know? Webs as a highly effective weapon. Chemistry. Language skills. Aerobics. You'll capture a Hydra scientist in no time, darling... You hear that?" She turned around and squinted at the perimeter of the roof.

"Birds nest around here," he brushed off her worries, frowning at her words. "But... It's risky. I've never even left the North, let alone the States. I have to assume a role-"

"Nothing different from your current 'mission'. The lifestyle the Starks live is new to you, but you've adapted. And from what I've heard from Howard, you've been in Stark Senior's good graces, keeping up with appearances upon appearances. Italy will be a breeze for you."

Peter chuckled tiredly. She had...a point. "I guess."

"Besides, before you know it, we'll be back here, celebrating Allied victory and the fall of the Third Reich. We're only doing a small part of a larger puzzle. Oh, God. Can you feel it? The city finally breathing again?"

Peter let out a laugh. "I hardly remember a time before this."

Gwen smiled. "I think our parents are the only ones who actually remember how a good time feels. _Hey_ , we'll do good, Parker. Don't worry. The fat, SSR paychecks won't hurt either."

Peter snorted, and smiled to himself, remembering Tony's promises.

_"We can get away, Peter. I'll find us a quiet little corner in Italy."_

Maybe... It wasn't so stupid after all.

"Good God, this a ghost town or something? I feel like someone's watching me all the damn time." Gwen abruptly stood up, and aimed the web canister towards the roof's door that they had left ajar. She pressed the cap down, and a couple of hidden birds flew away from the attack, except for one that fell immediately to the floor, its white wings plastered together by the web.

"Your accuracy is great," Peter quipped, bending down to tend to the startled dove. "But I suggest aiming at fascists next time."

"Comedian, too. Extremely qualified, I see," she deadpanned, making him snicker against the rustling bird.

 

* * *

 

As soon as Peter opened the door to the Stark home the next day, Edward crashed into his legs and hugged him tightly, babbling and whining uncontrollably.

Peter's heart almost jumped out of his mouth, immediately sinking to his knees to the boy's level. His eyes were red and watery, making Peter slightly worried. _God_. Was this a broken toy, or was it regarding Tony?

"Edward, Ed. _Calm down_." Peter whispered. He looked behind Edward's shoulder for any signs of Tony, but he didn't see or hear anything out of place. "Breathe and talk. Breathe. And talk."

More tears streamed down Edward's face. "I don't want you to go. I want you to stay. Please, Peter, _Pleeaaase_."

Peter gaped, not understanding where the toddler got those conclusions. What on earth happened in the last twenty-four hours? He quickly wiped away the stray tears from the toddler's cheeks. "Eddie, Eddie. I'm not going anywhere. I am _not_  going anywhere. Who told you that? Nothing's going to happen."

Edward pressed his head against Peter's coat and sniffed loudly, his words muffled, yet clear. "Daddy told me you're leaving."

"I'm not-" Peter stopped and frowned, gently pulling Edward back. His mind buzzed. "Tony said what?"

_"We can get away, Peter. I'll find us a quiet little corner in Italy."  
_

_How dare he_ \- Peter stiffened and grabbed Edward by the shoulders, startling the boy from his endless tears. "Is your father home?"

Edward nodded mutely, and Peter stood up, already making his way to Tony's office.

"Go to your room, Ed," Peter called out. "Everything's going to be all right."

Peter reached the closed doors and pursued his lips together, waiting to hear Edward's small feet scuffling upstairs, before turning the doorknob and pushing the heavy door open.

As soon as he stepped in, the floor beneath his boot crunched loudly. Peter rose his foot and examined the bright pieces. Glass. He immediately recognised the extensive design of the broken bottle and scoffed, raising his head towards Tony's desk, where a hunched, rigid figure loomed.

"Tony, you've been _drinking_? I thought-"

"You thought _what_? That I stopped? Why, Parker?" Tony said dryly. Peter opened his mouth to respond, but Tony continued. "You thought I stopped drinking for _you_?"

Peter's stomach dropped.

This wasn't about Italy.

"W-What the hell, Tony?" Peter gasped out, trying hard to not let his words affect him with no avail. "God. You're drunk, Tony. I-I'm going to make you a soup t-to wash that-"

"Don't bother," Tony scoffed. "I'm sober, Parker. I drank those bottles yesterday. After a fucking stakeout."

The heavy feeling in his stomach came up his chest in an instant. He could taste the sick in his mouth. "S-stakeout?"

Tony smiled coldly, walking towards him. He neared Peter, raking his beard against his smooth cheek. "That's right...What was it again?" He made a low sound against his ear, and Peter shamefully shivered in pleasure. "Ah, yes." Tony pushed the door behind him, and it closed with a soft click. " _Darling_."

 _No_.

Peter staggered, and Tony watched him with dark, hardened eyes, before turning away and sitting back on his desk chair with no sign of his usual suavity.

_"Good God, this a ghost town or something? I feel like someone's watching me all the damn time."_

Peter let out a whine, feeling like he was about to fall apart. _No no no no nononono._ "Tony..." He surged forwards. It can't-He can't- _It can't end like this._  
"Tony-Tony- Listen to me. It's _not_ what you think. _God_. Ton-"

"You're _brilliant_ , Peter Parker," Tony snarled. "You and Howard, the fucking future!" Tony threw his hands to the air, and Peter shook his head, trying to speak, but Tony wasn't done. "Why act like you two work for the SSR _here_ , when you can do it all the damn time in the privacy of your home? It's not like I'm ever going to find out where you live. It's not like I'm ever going to recognise my own son's car parked right in front of my face."

_"It looks like you have company."_

Tony let out a sad chuckle, his eyes bright with moisture. For the first time since coming in, Peter noticed they were extremely blotchy and tinged in red. "Tell me. Before you go to Italy with blondie, _darling_. What was your mission here? What were you supposed to do to me?"

Peter shook his head, his face hot and clammy. "Nothing. God, Tony, nothing. I'm- _Please_. Just _listen to me_."

"I listened to you in Connecticut, _darling_ -"

"Stop that," Peter croaked.

"You crushed my dreams of leaving with you to Italy-"

"Y-you can't...abandon-"

"Talking about Italy, aunts, bosses, languages, Italy, then suddenly, you don't want to leave, but with the SSR, you're practically one foot in-"

"I don't want to leave with them, Tony!" he practically screeched. "I want to stay with you!"

Tony's mouth clambered shut. His face was indecipherable. Peter decided to keep going.

"I-I owe the SSR. I owe them. They got me out of a dangerous situation-"

"What?"

"W-what?"

"What situation, _darling_?"

"Tony," Peter whined. " _Please_." He gasped harshly, trying not to run out of breath. "I was being threatened. By Hammer. Ruin the S-Starks, or he'll publish the location and clients of the underground club I go to." Peter willed his hands to stop shaking. "Most of them, if not all, are currently serving in the troops. It can ruin them. Get them beaten up, sent to the front, dozen of homes burnt, children's lives forever tainted. I-I-"

"So you decided to ruin one family instead of of a handful." Tony said, his voice dry.

God. He was _done_ with lying. "Yes. At first," he looked towards the door, and kept his gaze on the broken glass. "But then I met Edward, and then I..."

 _Then I what_? Peter gasped heavily, almost at the brink of hyperventilating, but somehow, for some bizarre reason, he stayed calmed. _God. Where the fuck am I going with this? What am I trying to prove? That I'm not a liar? That I'm not a spy? That I haven't taken advantage of his trust_? He was all of that and more, and telling him that Peter had fallen for him won't change a damn thing.

Tony saw through him since day one, and nothing was going to repair the damage he had created. Whatever they had was built on nothing but lies and acts.

_"Whatever you two have, stop, pal." Howard jabbed at his chest. "It won't last. And it won't end well. So quit whilst you're breathing."_

"You what?" Tony asked, getting impatient at his sudden silence.  
Peter rose his gaze from the glass, and stared at his face, Tony's expectant face.

_I'm sorry, Tony._

"Then I...I grew scared. I couldn't ruin Edward. I wanted the easy way out. I-I spoke with Howard, and his team- He- They stopped everything. I'm not ruining anyone anymore. Like I said. I owe them."

"You're laying your life for them." Tony drawled. His face was completely closed up. It was physically painful to even look him in the eye.

"I'm not their cannon fodder, it's a job." Peter quivered in his spot. "Besides I couldn't exactly join the troops with my physicality. I'm doing something, but from my point of view, I don't see you doing anything."

"I fought a war. It ended, and life got worse, and another inhumane war took its place." Tony said. "From my point of view, I don't see anything worth doing."

"There's so much to do. So _much_. Anything will suffice. I-" Peter forced himself to _breathe_. "That's why I decided to go. I might as well help in a way I can."

"Through what you know best. _Spying_ ," Tony said.

His breaths were coming in quick and short, as if Tony punched him in the stomach. "So be it."

_"It won't last. And it won't end well. So quit whilst you're breathing."_

No matter what, no matter when or where he ended it--whether it would be here in the privacy of Tony's office or caught by policemen in a dark alley--Peter would always feel like his lungs were being ripped off his chest.

Tony leaned back against his chair, and stared at him, knitting his hands together against his ruffled, red shirt. It was the same, rough sleeves that had held him in the Connecticut house. "Tell me one thing, Peter." His gaze fell on the corner of his desk, and Peter immediately knew Tony was thinking about the day he had opened himself up to Peter, how he cheated and was left desolate and unrequited. The day Peter admitted to his affection for Tony, causing everything to fall down. "Why lie to me in the first place? Why not tell me the truth?"

Peter shook his head slightly. There was no good or right answer.

Why did he lie?

"I don't know, Tony. I..." _was scared_. Of what? Peter cleared his throat. "I didn't...want to get hurt. And I didn't want to hurt you." _And I managed to do just that_.

Tony looked unimpressed, disappointed even, and something both cold and hot rose through Peter's body, leaving him off balance.

Before he knew it, Peter was talking again. "Did you believe me?"

Tony burst out in cold laughter. "God, no. I always knew you were nothing but."

Peter bristled. "Then why let me stay all this time?"

"You know the answer to that."

"I don't..." Peter's breath hitched, as Tony met his eyes, his gaze burning like hell itself.

_Because he fell for you, you imbecile._

Tony continued to gaze at him, as if waiting for a sign, his eyes glassy and steady.

What can he possibly do? Not go to Italy? _Stay_? Take the goddamn railroad and leave together to California with Edward? None of it was realistic, and he and Tony knew it. They knew it well.

But then.

Why was Tony insisting?

Peter looked away, his vision blurring. "I'm so sorry."

He winced at the sound of a harsh shuffle of desk materials. He looked up, and watched Tony pull out a small booklet from one of his file dividers and scribble quickly on it.

Peter slowly stepped closer, his chest light. "What a-"

Tony looked up at him, and Peter stopped short. Tony's face was...scary, to say the least. He looked down and finished his writing and ripped the small page from the booklet. He held it up without a word and extended it to Peter without a single glance.

Peter quickly scampered to Tony's desk, but he took a few steps back as he saw what it was.

A check.

Tony sighed in annoyance at Peter's lack of action and placed the check on the desk. He stood up and moved towards the office's window, picking up a brand new cigar. "You're fired, Peter," Tony said at last. "I no longer require your services here."

"What about Edward?" Peter blurted out.

"Frankly, Peter, it's none of your business." Tony lit his cigar. "You've stayed long enough. Leave."

"Tony-"

" _Leave_."

Peter watched Tony turn away and focus once again on smoking up the room, clearly implying that he was no longer inviting Peter anywhere near him.  
He couldn't- He _can't-  
_

_But he can._

Even though he could feel the air getting stuffier, Peter grunted and stomped his way towards him.

Tony heard him approaching, and his eyebrows furrowed. "Peter, I'm smoking. Lea-"

Peter let out a short yell of frustration and slapped Tony's cigar to the floor. Tony opened his mouth to shout at him, but Peter moved quick. He rose his arms and wrapped them around Tony's shoulders. For a breath of a second, they stared at each other, lost for words and emotions--neither sure of how to placate the other.

 _Yes, you do_ , an inner voice within Peter goaded, and, frankly, it did the trick.

In a leap of horribly placed faith, Peter closed his eyes, and yanked the older man forwards, pressing their lips together.

It was akin to an explosion.

Tony immediately responded, his tongue thrusting in between Peter's lips, his tobacco-scented hands rapidly taking ahold of Peter's flank, his hips, painfully gripping his arse, and then wrapping them around his upper thighs to hoist Peter up.

Peter breathed harshly through his nose as he let Tony practically consume him whole, the older man moving forwards blindly as Peter wrapped his legs around his waist, painfully pulling Tony's hair.

Peter let out a yell against Tony's aggressive kiss as his back collided with a uneven horizontal surface. As Tony moved to mark his neck, Peter reached back and fished out what seemed to be a stapler and threw it to the floor.

He swore he heard it _break_.

"Fuck, you-" Tony gritted against his chin, and without a single warning, he pulled his hair back to extend Peter's neck.

"Haa-" Peter opened his eyes, staring into the thick forearm smushed against him. God, _fuck_ , he was practically cross-eyed. "Fuck-I want-"

Peter let out a stifled moan as Tony's free hand managed to escape their furious entanglement to squeeze Peter's arse.

"Take me-" Peter hissed as Tony bit his collarbone harshly, unable to finish.

Tony groaned and went back to Peter's mouth. "Oh, I will." Peter bit Tony's bottom lip and Tony yanked his hair again in response. Peter groaned baring his neck. Tony's voice deepened. "I definitely will."

He could hear Tony unbuckling his belt.

_God. Yes. But-_

"With _you._  Take me _with you_ , Tony." Peter breathed out, and Tony's persistent hands immediately stopped unbuttoning.

It took a moment for his mind to finally catch up to his own words.

_Fuck._

In an instance, the burning space between them was gone. Peter blinked and slowly sat up and saw Tony near the window absently zipping up his trousers, as if nothing had happened. Tony picked up his cigar, as his other hand shakily smoothed his hair back.

Peter kept staring at the back of his neck, until Tony turned and met his eyes. Tony stared back for a few moments, and Peter thought something had shifted in Tony's mind, but all that came out of him was a low, dispirited sound.

"God...Peter. We need time. Apart."

Peter nodded numbly, sliding off the desk. He turned towards the door, his legs shaking, and his vision blurry. He felt as if he could barely walk.

He felt far away from his surroundings. Not even Edward's yells, and the brash scuffle of Tony holding the kid back could snap him out of it.

He walked and walked and walked, finding himself led into a busy avenue, where one loud and clear voice rang above all others.  
Peter stared at the odd commotion. A newsboy raising a tattered copy of the day's paper, people bustling to _actually_  buy a goddamn newspaper. As if it actually had something that the radio had not spoken about yet.

"Come and read it yourself, ladies and gentlemen! Here you go, sweetheart!"

Peter lost his footing, half-heartedly supporting himself against the wall next to him. Someone near him whispered Hammer's name.

"Thanks! Whichever copy you wa- Grab it here, gents! It's the scoop of the decade! Thank you, sir!"

Peter slid down, and _broke._

"A couple of your hard-earned cents and the details are yours to read! You there, ma'am! No, thank _you_ , sir!"

He had to face it.

"Have you heard?"

He ruined everything the very moment he laid eyes on Tony.

"Our own Justin Hammer, a Nazi benefactor! Thank you for your purchase, ma'am! Ladies, read all about it in the Scholar's Daily!"

There was nothing he could do.

A hand on his shoulder. "Young man, are you all right?"

There was absolutely nothing.

"Parker? Don't worry, sir, I got him. I know him." The voice lowered, a hint of genuine concern etched on its playful tone. "Hey, Princess. What's wrong with you? Leo! Holler at Ned for me! Peter. Y'okay?"

He breathed in, and moved his head towards the voice. "If you're here asking, Flash...I hardly think anything's okay."

Well.

If breaking his and Tony's heart simultaneously wasn't the end of the world, then making Flash Thompson burst out in laughter was sure to end the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading once again!! 
> 
> I'm not going to make any predictions for the next chapter because, uh, they fail 80% of the time.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a heads up, but if you see any phrase that's not faithful to 1940s slang, please let me know! Thanks for reading!


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